Buddy, the Vampire Slayer
by Spike is the BIG BAD
Summary: The Scoobies are flummoxed when a curse switches their sex - men to women, women to men. Until the lovely Giles can find a reversal spell, they all must learn to live with their new gender assignments.
1. Surprise, surprise!

The alarm clock blared, ending Buffy's worst nightmare ever, one that inflicted actual physical pain — no, agony! She opened bleary eyes and rolled groggily out of bed. She plodded miserably to the bathroom.

And startled herself with her own scream.

Her unbelievably tight sweatpants were at her knees, revealing thick, hairy legs. She blinked to focus on them and shrieked alarm at this foreign reality. Lurching drunkenly to the sink, she gnashed out a deep gasp at the whiskered visage in the mirror.

She heard the bedroom door open. "Buffy," Joyce called.

Buffy peeked out the bathroom door. Mom saw her. She shrilled out in shock, spun and fled down the hall.

"Mom wait -"

She hitched up her pants with difficulty and hobbled after Joyce, who slammed the door behind her. Buffy wrenched it open and heard Dawn's bedroom door slam. As she followed she could hear her mother's alarmed voice shooting commands to her sister.

"Oh no," Buffy graveled. Her voice was deep, was distant and strange to hear. She tried the knob to Dawn's room and triggered a scream from Dawn. "You better get out now," she quavered. We have guns."

"Dawn - Mom, it's me, it's Buffy."

Joyce shouted, "I've got the police on the phone right now, mister.

"Yes," her voice snapped. "I have an intruder in my house – 1630 Revello Drive. Hurry, I think he has a gun."

Aw, Mom." Buffy ran back to her room, threw open her closet and picked up a pair of boots. Dropping onto the floor she tried to stick her foot in, snorting her frustration. The foot was huge. She found her flip flops and managed to jam her oversized dogs in. Her heels overlapped them. Tearing through her clothes she found her hooded sweat jacket and pulled it off the hanger. On the way out she snatched her purse from the bureau and thundered downstairs, four steps at a time. A distant siren was audible, growing louder as she vaulted through the door and sprinted down the street. So typical that the cops, usually several hours late to scenes of real trouble, would be Johnny-on-the-spot now. Cutting into old Mr. Camargo's side yard, she ducked behind a mulberry bush as two black-and-whites squealed past. .

"Giles," Buffy intoned, scowling at the still shocking deepness of her voice, "you'd better be home."

Ever the persevering Englishman, Giles kept a stiff upper lip as he weathered the hot spray of the shower. He assured himself that all would be well following a good scrubbing. The drunken illusion he must be undergoing would dissipate soon, then he could forget that he imagined himself a woman. Although he only recalled only one small brandy after supper, he must have tippled far more. Yes, he must simply have forgotten, and had overdone the nightcap. That would explain why he now imagined a pair of generous breasts festooning his front, and an even greater shock southward. Long, chestnut colored tresses trailed wetly down his shoulders. After dealing with a frustratingly thin and retreating head of hair his entire adult life, Giles took this as proof positive this was all illusory.

Eventually the hot water was depleted. "Could be hypnosis," Giles mused aloud as he toweled off. His high alto voice failed to lend credence to his surmise. He grittily resolved to confront the truth by checking the mirror. A nude woman stood regarding him in the reflection. "Er –" he began to beg her pardon, shaking his head at the insanity.

It took several fittings to select clothes that would drape reasonably on his diminished frame. He settled on a handmade shirt, too small for years, which he had kept because it was expensive. He buckled into his tightest slacks, a pair of beige jodhpurs from his riding days at Manchester. His riding boots bore ankle straps he could cinch tightly, so he put those on too.

The doorbell rang. Giles debated answering, but the desperate pounding that followed drove him to trot downstairs, marveling at the lightness of his steps, and throw open the front door.

A man stood there, tall and with delicate facial features.

"I need Giles," the man demanded. "Who are you?"

Giles drew himself up to his full height, about five-foot-six. "And who, may I ask, is inquiring?"

"Giles?"

There was something in the man's expression.

"Buffy?"

In unison they spoke.

"Oh, my."

"Oh, s—t."

Spike was in demon mode. His snarl would frighten the strongest of men if they were unlucky enough to see it. But the sewer was devoid of any life beyond the rats that retreated from the clatter of his boot steps.

Waves of bleached-blonde hair cascaded down his shoulders. His clothes hung loosely, but Spike's always slender frame enabled an acceptable fit of his black t-shirt and jeans, blood-red button-down shirt, and black coat.

His eyes sought out telltale marks he navigated with. When he reached his destination, he climbed up a ladder to the street and lifted the manhole cover. Pulling his coat over his head, he climbed out into the sunlight and dropped the cover back in place. Smoke streamed diaphanously from his briefly exposed flesh.

He hurried into Xander's yard and got to the basement door. It was locked. He dug a credit card from his wallet - the name on it was Janet Asperian - and jimmied the lock.

As he entered, Xander jumped abruptly toward the bed, swooping a sheet up to his cover him.

"Who're you?" he demanded. "Get outta here." His voice piped high and girly from ruby red lips.

"I see you've got it too," Spike said and slammed the door. He dropped into the nearest chair, batting wisps of smoke from around his face.

"Is that you … Spike?"

"Well, it isn't Yma Sumac." His eyes narrowed. "What the deuce are you about?"

Xander's eyes shot to and fro under heavy lashes. "Nothing. Just … look, beat it! This is my place. Yeah, my place and I say you're not welcome." Realization struck his features, and he cursed.

"That's right, love. Invite me once, and it takes a spell to uninvite me."

Xander grabbed his robe from a hook. "Don't call me 'love.' I don't know what's going on, Spike -" He pulled the robe around his shoulders and, turning his back, dropped the sheet as he tied it in front.

"So take off."

"Nice trick," Spike smirked, "but not slick enough. I saw your pear-shaped bum."

Xander started to retort but the door flew open and Tara swept in, leading a man garbed in Willow's clothes.

"Sweet fancy Moses," Xander declared.

Willow sported a full beard, in fact was extremely hirsute with a head full of kinky, curly red hair that poofed out like an afro.

I didn't do this," she said preemptively. She tromped to the bed and threw herself face down on it.

"Well, well. I see the curse isn't just changing blokes into birds," Spike said slyly.

"Anyone see Buffy?" Willow asked, her voice muffled against Xander's bed.

"We tried calling her," Tara expanded, "but the line was busy."

Spike got up and walked to Xander's bureau. "'Ere now, what's this?" He picked up a camera, which had short tripod legs attached. The timer caused it to flash just then and capture a photo of Spike's face.

Xander sprung at him. "Gimme that!"

Spike laughed. "Bloody 'ell, nancy-boy was taking nude pix of his new body. How unbelievably grotty! Taking shots of your pear-shaped bum, were you?"

Xander yanked the camera from him. "Shut up, bitch."

Spike turned away, shaking his head. "At least one of us enjoys this curse."

Willow jumped off the bed. "Leave him alone, Spike."

"Yeah, we can't be fighting," Tara agreed. "We have to work together to figure this out."

"I don't think so." Spike walked to the door and hitched up his coat. "I just stopped by on my

way to Rupert's, anyway. He'll pull out his books and find a reversal spell, as always."

"Wait, Spike," Willow protested.

But Spike was gone.

"Did you try calling Giles?" Xander asked.

Willow shook her head. "Think he may be hit by this, too?"

"I guess we'll see." Xander touched his hair self-consciously. "So, what do you think of the new me, eh?" He raised his eyebrows a couple of times, looking from Willow to Tara.


	2. Five lookalikes

The Scooby gang was gathered at The Magic Box, glumly awaiting Giles' arrival.

"What's he doing, anyway?" Xander growled.

Tara eyed him levelly.

"And why do you keep staring at me?"

Willow said, "Sheesh, Xander, she's just looking. None of us are used to this."

Tara touched Xander's arm in apology. "You remind me of someone, some actress. Can't figure …"

"Megan Fox," Buffy tossed in. "First time I saw her – uh, saw _him_ - I said, 'Megan Fox'."

Xander examined his thumbs.

"Don't be ridiculous," Willow chided.

"What? They're weird." He worked them up and down, grimacing. "They're so like toes."

Buffy bent to look. "Lemme see. Naw. Well - a little, I guess."

"We'll change them back," Tara said soothingly.

"This sucks! I have toe thumbs."

Spike snapped around his cigarette, "Who bloody cares. Let's get Rupert here and figure out when I get my mojo back."

Anya sat down next to Xander.

"Better be soon, because I'm not having sex with Xander until he's a man again." She looked over at Tara. "I guess you can, though."

The gang erupted in rebuke.

"That's just Anya," Buffy said. "Y'know, she's not socialized."

"Yeah," Xander murmured.

"But it's valid," Anya persisted. "Look, Xander's thinking about it now. He's getting excited."

"Let's talk about something else," Xander said quickly, squirming in his chair.

They sat quietly for a time, listening to the ticking of the clock.

Tara broke the silence. "So who's Spike look like?"

Willow perked up. "Marilyn Monroe, definitely."

They all agreed, "Oh yeah. Yep. That's it, on the button." Spike gave them all the two-fingered salute. He lit his next cigarette with the spent one.

"Yeah? Well, look at Buffy, and tell me she's not a blonde Johnny Depp."

"Shut up, Spike."

"No, he's right, Buff." Willow looked at her from several angles. "You really are the spitting image."

"But taller, and more muscular," Xander said. "How 'bout Willow? D'you look like anyone?"

She shrugged.

Buffy assessed her. "Well, your hair's a bit wild. You kind of look like that Kotter guy from Welcome Back Kotter."

"Which guy?"

"Kotter."

"Oh, yuck."

"Naw," Spike disagreed. He took a puff and blew smoke from his nostrils. "The hair, she does. But the face? Colin Farrell."

Anya stepped over to Willow. "Really? I love Colin Farrell. She squeezed Willow's face and plastered her hair down with her palms. Willow resisted, but Anya saw what she needed to.

"Ooh, you do look like him."

"Anya," Xander cautioned, sensing trouble.

"This is good. I can have sex with you until Xander's normal."

"Omigod," Buffy said.

"Oh please," Willow said.

"What?" Anya was puzzled. "She likes women anyway. I don't understand. Why wouldn't she want to have sex with me?"

"Can we talk about this later?" Willow sighed.

"What?" Xander gasped. "No. Not later. Not ever."

They heard a key in the lock, and they watched Giles walk in. He had been shopping, and now wore a prim tweed jacket, cotton blouse and maroon scarf. Black pleated slacks and sensible shoes completed the ensemble.

Spike nearly dropped his cigarette from his mouth. "Bugger me, it's Mary Poppins."

Despite the downbeat atmosphere, or maybe because of it, the gang erupted in laughter. Giles shut and locked the door and then stood waiting. His stern expression sent a paroxysm of greater mirth through the group, for it was true his appearance was pretty dead-on Julie Andrews in her Oscar-winning role as the firm nanny with a soft heart. He crossed his arms and tapped his foot, and Spike fell to the floor choking on guffaws in a most unladylike display, his cigarette flapping up and down and flicking ashes onto the carpet.

They simmered after a minute, grunting in relief as their tightened stomach muscles relaxed.

Giles said, "If you all are quite finished, I believe this spell can be found by researching the books of wizardry and witchcraft. Tara, if you and Willow can assist me, along with Xander and Anya? We must get to the bottom of this catastrophe."

"What about me?" Buffy asked. "And Spike?"

"Buffy. You must patrol. In fact, you may be even more effective, now. Spike?" his eyes sought out the bleached vampire. He hmmed with a vaguely disgusted tone and shook his head, causing his chestnut hair to waggle in its bun.

"I don't care what you do. As long as it's not here."

Spike spun abruptly to his feet, dropped his cigarette to the floor, and stubbed it out with his boot.

"I don't think we need to find a reversal for you, Giles. As a woman you're exactly the same as before. A tad shorter, of course. A bit less bitchy, maybe."


	3. Surgat

Buffy walked along patrol sullenly, Spike following a step behind, puffing on his cigarette. Giles had outfitted her with clothes that fit. She now wore a three button light blue shirt, dark brown slacks and matching jacket. Giles had sprung for some nice expensive athletic shoes, too.

Spike fell behind, his stride no match for Buffy's long legs.

"Wait up," he said. "Buffy, slow down, you dodgy bloke."

She turned.

"Okay, bad joke. What are you so shirty about anyway, didn't Giles square things with mum and the little bit?"

"Why'm I shirty? Oh, I don't know, Spike. Maybe it's because I'm getting a rash where I never had a rash before, or a place to have it. Maybe _you_ like taking a walk on the wild side, but I don't enjoy being a man, Spike, it sucks!"

Buffy turned her back on him and sped up spitefully.

He hurried after her. "Then it should make you happy to know, you're behaving like a regular girly poofer!"

They continued their footrace until they ran across a just turned-out grave.

"Fresh one," Spike observed. He craned his neck then turned to Buffy. "You're the giraffe now, what d'you see?"

Buffy peered into the dark. "Looks like there's another turned grave over there -"

She was jumped from behind. She fell with her attacker on the grass, the vampire snapping at her neck.

Another vamp ran from the darkness toward Spike, who spun to face him. "Looky looky here," the attacker gloated, "we got some easy kills."

Spike grinned and flicked his cigarette at the fiend's face. He vamped and the attacker's expression went chicken. Spike leapt on him with a howl of delight.

Buffy got some room to throw an elbow at her vampire, then twisted from his grip. They squared off, and Buffy threw a side kick and doubled it into a head shot. She spun into a back kick that crunched bone. Her stake flashed, and her opponent whiffed to dust without a whimper.

Spike hit his vamp with the works. He landed both fists, then kneed and kicked the newly minted freak, but his equally newly minted female body lacked its previous strength. The vamp drew his feet back and exploded a kick on Spike's chest that threw him backward, where he landed clutching his boobs in agony.

Buffy thudded a flying spin kick to the vamp's head that flattened him. She staked him and turned quickly to Spike, offering him a hand up. Spike took it, still massaging with the other one.

"I never knew what sort of pain you birds got in the mamsies."

Buffy chuckled. "Who's the poofer, now?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXX

Surgat hovered several feet above the floor where Ethan Rayne had scrawled his pentagram. The demon spewed forth great gouts of offal, with mounds of multicolored maggots twisting in its midst. The mess plowed almost onto Rayne, but was repelled by the pentagram's invisible shield.

"I will toy with your dying body until you beg me for death," Surgat seethed. "I will tear your bleeding -"

"Shut up." Rayne spat, and Surgat's mouth clamped shut. The demon glared at him, working his claws maliciously at the edge of the protective bubble.

"That's right, sewer mouth," Rayne mocked. "You have no power here. Listen and do what I say."

Surgat shrieked in fury and excreted out of several orifices. Rayne wasn't protected from the stench, and he stamped his foot in anger.

"Claw yourself, demon, until I tell you to stop!"

Surgat, helpless to resist, wailed in pain as he shredded his own flesh. He clawed and tore his face until his skull gleamed whitely under the streaming blood. Rayne felt his stomach twitch, and ordered him to stop.

"See that you don't anger me again, if you know what's good for you, Surgat. I want you to work on the transformation spells I gave you. Do it now, you maggot-filled hulk of shite"

Surgat's remaining eye glowered resentfully at Rayne. His pulped lips dribbled as he croaked, "I did those spells. Give me another." The eye shifted slyly. "Your wish is my command, master."

"You would like that, wouldn't you, filth? If I give you another spell, that will free you. I'm ever mindful of that caveat, Surgat, so don't suggest it again, or I'll have you eating your own innards."

Surgat sobbed like a baby, eons of frustration welling in his black ego, so that in a fit he bit off his own hand and spat it at Rayne. "I did your bidding," he snarled, "now what must I do?"

"You started the spells," Rayne said impatiently, "but they're temporary! I don't want an episode, a vignette, an interesting arc of a storyline here. I want disaster. The slayer is a man now, and more powerful than before. You think that's what I had in mind, you stinking, defecating excuse of a demon? So make it permanent, _then_ I shall release you."

"And all their powers will go to you." Surgat's wounds healed over, and he fixed both burning eyes squarely on Rayne's face. "I can give you all the slayer's powers and more. Let me conjure mammoth forces for you, master. Empower you to vanquish all enemies. You will rule the world!"

"Shut up, you impotent mausoleum of crud. Here I am, all five-nine of me, slapping you around. You boast like a barstool athlete. Make that spell permanent, damn you. I want the buggers to stay in those new bodies. I want their identities lost, their powers corrupt. You know the drill, so get to it."

Surgat thrust his face against the invisible shield, and his putrid breath billowed in waves into Rayne face. He nearly vomited. "You know it takes time," Surgat purred. "And the accursed must condemn themselves by their own acceptance of the curse."

Rayne answered quietly, keeping his breath shallow. "Say what you mean."

"When all the cursed have lain with their opposites, they will forfeit their true selves."

"Oh ho? I see, they must sleep together."

Any opposite will do." Surgat floated back a few feet and took on a softer, almost benevolent tone. "You know that if this shield ever falters, or if you ever make some mistake and free me, I'll certainly lay with you. And you will know my sweet and tender love."

Surgat revealed parts of himself that had been concealed. Rayne shut his eyes and ordered him away, not even bothering to punish the demon. For many minutes Rayne remained within the pentagram, grossed out and frightened. He wondered whether he made a mistake summoning Surgat, for his vengeance on luckless wizards was documented as well as mythologized, the details pervading his thoughts now as he trembled with dread.

He forced his mind back to business. Surgat's spell was doubtless turning that gang of bungling nobodies on their heads, and it made him laugh to think of it. Especially Ripper as a bird, now that was a hoot.

He mused that it was Ripper who would be most resistant to temptation. Ripper was an honorary monk anyway, so now as a woman he would be even more shut off from the charms the opposite sex offered.

Yes, Rupert was a special case, and would take some figuring. Rayne finally left the pentagram and walked downstairs for tea and calculation.

You'll fall, Ripper, he thought. I'll find your Achilles heel and you'll go down, I promise.


	4. What of Andrew, 'Bots and Blondes?

"I was hoping you'd be home," Tara said sweetly.

"Such as it is," Xander said, swinging the door open and waving her in.

"You're looking good." Tara came in and found a chair.

"I don't know what to make of that. They're not my looks." He took a seat on the edge of his bed. The basement room was immaculate. Being a virtual shut-in, Xander had little else to do but clean.

"How's your mom handling it?"

Xander smiled. "Funny thing is, she hasn't seen me. She's probably glad I've been invisible for once. I was concocting some stories, but other than responding to the notes she leaves me with my notes, I don't think I'll have to communicate with her at all."

Tara's eyes took in the sparkling basement. "You've made it real nice in here."

"Thanks." Xander looked at the floor.

"Willow got her hair done."

"Oh."

"Yeah, she looks totally like Colin Farrell now. But she's plucking her eyebrows thin, trying to get her own style going."

Xander shrugged and smiled.

"Look, why don't we get out of here? There's a big bright world out there calling you."

"Sunnydale?"

"Okay, you're right. But how about a piping hot cup of coco at the Java Hut? My treat."

From Xander's somber coil flamed an ember of interest. "Yeah, I could use a little liquid happiness. Maybe a donut."

"Maybe two."

He grinned. Why not? I'm skinny, I may as well take advantage of myself."

"I'm for that!"

Xander threw on his new boots, his gray hooded jacket, and was ready.

Tara pulled the hood off as he passed her in the doorway. "Beauty should be shared, Xander, even if you think it isn't you."

Xander started to replace the hood, but paused to consider this. He locked his door and tossed back his flowing black hair. "Yeah. When in Rome."

Tipton's in the mall was a throwback to the videogame craze of the 'eighties. The arcade featured such anachronistic diversions as Pac Man, Asteroids and Dig Dug; there was even a row of pinball machines. The latest in video technology also graced the walls and aisles, everything to coax the local videots' quarters and dollars from their fertile pockets.

Warren had all the games he desired at home - widescreen, Dolby sound, primo graphics. Still, he dropped a twenty or so at the place from time to time, busting it old school at a stand up console. Keeping it real.

Andrew had searched for him at his house and at the computer store. Coming up short, he went to Tipton's, and for once the third did prove the charm.

"Warren, I'm glad I found you. I -"

"Uh!" Warren snapped a warning hand out and brought it back to the firing button with speed that would impress a gunslinger. No matter, his triangle ship got demolished by asteroids.

"Dick."

"I'm sorry dude, I … were you close to high score?"

"What do you want?" Warren demanded, impatiently tapping out his initials on the high score screen. Andrew saw he was at third place.

"I want a favor, Warren. I - I need a favor."

"Yeah?" Warren felt in his pocket and shrugged. "You saved me a couple bucks anyway. I'm through here."

The two youths walked out but before Andrew could speak Warren spied a hot dog vendor and hurried to his cart. "Hey, you said you want a favor? Pay for my lunch."

"No problem," Andrew agreed, watching in dismay as Warren ordered three of the footlongs, directing the vendor to top them high and expensively.

"None for me," he said, and Warren waved at him derisively. Of course, he wouldn't have thought of me, Andrew realized.

They sat on the edge of a fountain where Warren could smash bite after bite of loaded dog into his mouth.

"S'wha y'want," Warren smuffed.

"I need to borrow your 'bot, dude."

Warren chortled through his nose. He swallowed and swilled some cola. "My anatomically correct 'bot?"

"Uh, yeah."

Warren winced comically and shook his head, cramming in more dog with kraut and peppers.

"What're you insinuating?" Andrew demanded. "I just want to borrow him."

"Wy'oo wonnum?" Warren splorked.

"I need him for a trick. Don't talk with food in your mouth."

Warren swallowed so hard he had to pound his chest, jaws clenched in pain.

"Aw sick, you hafta chew, man." Andrew picked up the cola and handed it over. "Wash it down."

Warren managed to get his passages cleared. "Thanks Mom," he sighed, and mashed the rest of the first dog into his face. Andrew averted his eyes. "Ah gitchoo duh 'bot'n abud a wyk."

"Can I get 'im quicker?"

Warren shrugged, his overstuffed mouth trying to masticate its payload.

Andrew gave in. "I'm laying a curse on somebody."

Warren slurped soda into his oral trash compacter.

Andrew sagged. "It's on a guy named Rupert Giles, owner of The Magic Box."

Warren spat out the moist remains of his mouthful. Andrew recoiled from the chunks that struck him wetly. "Why didn't you say so? I hate that Limey. It's just a prototype, y'know, but you can borrow it, sure. Come on."

He jumped up and sped toward home base. Andrew hesitated, then picked up the other two hot dogs and the soda. He called wait up, and trundled after his friend.

Buffy's head lay wearily on the dinner table.

"Come now, um, Buffy, sit up and eat." Joyce tapped her shoulder sternly.  
>"So creepy," Dawn said under her breath.<p>

"Mom, you heard that."

"Yes, um, Buffy. Dawn - you need to support your sister in this, um, awkward time. Drop the attitude, okay?"

Dawn spooned pasta into her mouth, shrugging almost imperceptibly.

Buffy pushed some food with her fork. She rubbed her chin and huffed, "More beard again. My face is like, Wolfman Jack or something. How do men handle it?"

"Sweetheart," Joyce said patiently, "men have to shave every day. Just pretend it's your legs."

Buffy's expression brightened to ecstasy. "Gee, thanks Mom. All better. Whee."

Joyce spread her hands helplessly. "We're all having a hard time with this, sweetheart. It won't last forever."

The doorbell rang, and Joyce held up a hand and rose to answer it.

"I don't know about that," Buffy muttered. "It's been a week already."

Dawn said, "Maybe you'll never change back."

Buffy glowered.

"What, that's what you were thinking, right? Gawd, don't lookit me like that Buffy, it's creepy."

"Sorry."

"Hmm, that's okay. Say something."

Buffy looked at her. "What?"

"Say something like, 'I'm Captain Jack Sparrow'. Say it like Johnny Depp."

Buffy dropped her fork and got up.

Just as Joyce returned with Spike.

"Buffy," Joyce said unnecessarily, "it's, um, Spike."

"Mom, can you drop the 'um' before our names. Please. I know it's weird, but I feel creepy enough …"

Spike made a sympathetic gesture toward Joyce. "She's been a wuss over this all week. Not to worry, she'll feel better after some patrolling."

Buffy opened her mouth, but just exhaled. "Let's go."

Buffy remained sullenly quiet for the first hour, and Spike just smoked.

"You know," he said, breaking the silence, "I do favor the bird. Marilyn Monroe. Saw her recently on the telly, AMC. Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. Pretty hot one, that. Y'know, she'd be considered fat nowadays, but she had a nice figger. Hourglass shaped, kind of nice. When I was a lad, plump women were the thing.

"Except I didn't go for that. I liked me marys to be fit, and angular."

"Spike," Buffy said impatiently, "I can't take this. You have some hard stuff?"

Spike gaped, uncomprehending.

"Liquor, Peroxide Patty, I want alcohol. You got some?"

Spike pulled out his flask. "Have some gin. I got plenty at home."

Buffy took a slug. She blew her breath out from the corner of her mouth, and smiled. "Wow."

She took another swallow and hissed. "This feels different."

Spike reached for the flask. "You make it look tasty."

Buffy held the flask up, out of his reach. "Hold on, you're always tippling. It's my turn."

"Tippling?"

"It's a word. Look it up." Buffy tipped the flask onto her lips again.

"I know it's a word, been around longer than I have. Just funny you using it, all stodgy and like.

"Let's go by my digs and stoke up on the happy juice."

Buffy gazed levelly at him. "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, huh?"

Spike touched his hair uncertainly.

Buffy wasn't sure if she'd just referenced Spike, herself, or the movie.


	5. Two Down, Three To Go

Warren pulled the opaque plastic tarp off his robot.

"Ta-da."

"Where's it's face man?"

Warren ignored him. He manipulated a remote activator and the 'bot came to life. The 'bot stepped forward and startled Andrew with an aggressive handshake, and it was a good thing he had set down the food and cola. The handshake was firm enough to hurt, but it was short. The skin on the 'bot's hand was soft and lifelike, and warm.

"Pleased to meet you, sir." It's voice was not quite human-too high in pitch, too precise.

"This won't fool anyone," Andrew observed ruefully.

Warren swung away, snorting impatiently, "Number of incredible innovations by me?" he began chopping his hand toward his various inventions stored around the room. "Number by Andrew? Bupkes!" He made a zero with his thumb and forefinger.

"All right, it is incredible. But we all expect greatness from you by now. Genius is a given. It's like you're so incredible, you're not really, y'know, surprising anymore."

"Really?" Warren's smile returned, then hardened again. "You're just kissing my butt."

"I'd never do that."

"Really?" he smiled again. "It's so lifelike. I kept the face neutral so I could put on what the occasion demanded. I can have it on in ten minutes."

"And the voice?"

Warren danced over to the stereo console he had modified, and gave it a pat. "I have over two thousand voice patterns stored in it, and personality profiles to match. All the great ones. Darth Vader's, Sean Connery's, Michael Buffer's-"

"Who's he?"

"The boxing announcer, you know." He cupped his hands and bellowed, "Let's get ready to ruuuumblllllle!"

A pounding sounded on the ceiling.

"Sorry Mom," Warren called. "Just tell me what face and voice you want, I'll give it to you, buddy. Where's my food?"

While Warren munched, Andrew thought about what face and voice would suit his purpose. He calculated that, with a curse in place, it didn't really matter, but his client might bridle at a poor choice. He couldn't exactly present that rape guy from Deliverence, or the Hey Vern! guy and say here, this is our Romeo.

"Whakinda lookchoo gwanfor?" Warren smoffed.

"Damn, close your mouth, dude. I think someone good looking, y'know, really really handsome, with a cool voice. Suave, but American."

Warren gritted the lump down through his esophagus and choked out, "Young James Garner."

Andrew pictured that. "Rockford?"

Warren drained the soda cup and wiped his mouth on his wrist. "No, Maverick. Great looking, debonair. Deep voice, but not like James Earl Jones, just convincing. He was a girl magnet in his time."

He moved to the console and flicked a few buttons, then hit play. James Garner's recorded voice played. "Aces up."

Another voice. "Your stage is waiting for you, Maver-ack."

Garner; "You selling tickets?"

"Is that other voice-"

"Clint Eastwood? You bet, this is from the Maverick with Clint as a gunslinger. Y'know, we can go with Clint."

Andrew shook his head. "No, Garner sounds good. His face with Clint's voice would be weird."

So they went with Garner, and in a quarter of an hour the image of Garner stood before them, reciting as he was ordered.

"This is Jim Rockford, at the tone leave your name and message, I'll get back to you."

"Yeah, Rockford," Andrew gruffed playfully, "I'm glad you're not home, I'll be right over to rip off your trailer!"

Warren tssked, "Mad Magazine."

"But it was funny. I dig this, it's just like having him here."

"Listen, boys," Garnerbot sighed, "I'd like to hear you two geeks spar over trivia, but I understand there's a beautiful lady to attend to?" he raised his dark eyebrows questioningly.

"Well, I don't know if she's beautiful," Andrew returned, "but she's … yeah, she's a lady …now," he finished under his breath."

Warren said, "Can I come watch?"

Andrew shrugged. "I have to see if I can get a love spell on a 'bot. Demon time."

"Well, leave me out then." Warren suppressed a shudder. He had yet to get comfortable dealing with even the concept of encountering the nether spirits. "You can tell me all about it."

"You've got it." Andrew put out his hand. "Come on, er, Jim."

Garnerbot disdained his hand, giving him a sarcastic look and rolling his eyes. Andrew grinned.

"He's sooo real."

Warren called after them, "Make sure you clean him up before you return him. Especially if he, uh, gets lucky."

Andrew looked back at him.

"Ew."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

With no windows in the lower level under Spike's crypt, Buddy slept the sleep of the dead until just after noon. He opened one eye and saw dim surroundings. The other eye revealed a platinum blonde head lying on his shoulder.

He stared numbly for a minute, disoriented, and with a mammoth headache. He closed his eyes again and determined to sleep away the pain.

Then his eyes shot open and he bucked into a sitting position, knocking the head off his shoulder. Spike looked around at him.

"What're you about?" she demanded groggily.

"Spike, wake up."

"I'm here," she said. Then she looked around. The situation became clear, and she shuddered. "What did you do?"

She spun off her side of the bed, holding the sheet over her. As it slid off Buddy, he jerked it back and Spike fell on top of him.

"Let me go," Spike shrilled accusingly.

"Go," Buddy urged. He tried to get off on the other side of the bed with the sheet, but Spike clung to it. Buddy grabbed hold with a large fist and yanked , tearing the sheet away.

Spike covered her breasts with one arm, her lap with the other. She hopped up and padded to the closet, the flesh of her buttocks jiggling with each tiptoe.

"Spike, of all the disgusting, pukey things you've done, this is-this is-I'll kill ya dead for this one, you sonofabitch."

Spike hastily wrapped a black and white kimono around herself. "You're brassed off at me? Whatcha think, I raped you? Tell me how I accomplished that, you burk."

Buddy gasped. He bent down to grab his shirt, then craned wildly to find his pants. "I would never-"

"What? Never kiss me, think we're in love? As I recall, we were recently planning our nuptials."

"That was a spell." Buddy found his pants and plopped on the bed to pull them on.

Spike stepped into some too-big slippers. "The gin and vodka put the whammy on you. I was probably passed out, and you helped yourself, you rapacious pervert." She pulled a hairbrush off a shelf and started brushing out her hair, glaring balefully at Buddy.

Buddy donned his shirt and shoes, blustering under his breath.

Spike threw the brush down. "You sicken me."

"I hate you."

Tears came unexpectedly to Spike's eyes, and she jerked away and covered her face, muffling a pitiful sob.

Buddy grimaced. "What's your boggle?"

"You don't have to act so sick about it."

"What?"

"You did it to me, now you're all 'yuck,' and I'm just like … I don't know what's up."

Buddy took a long, deep breath. "Spike, I just don't know what happened."

She swung back to him. "We drank 'til we blanked out, obviously."

Buddy stepped toward her. "But I wouldn't do that with you, no matter how drunk I was."

Spike threw her arms up with a flourish, cackling like a mad scientist. "I'll come clean. I control you, I'm Svengali. Jump up and down, Buffy. Bark like a dog."

Buddy stood silent for a moment, then he jumped up and down and yapped like a Schnauzer. He glared furiously and barked, "Dammit Spike, I thought you were kidding."

Spike's mouth went slack. "But I was."

A laugh erupted from Buddy, bending him nearly double.

Spike rolled her eyes, an involuntary smile quivering at the corners of her lips. Mirth overcame her and she held her fingers over her mouth, chortling. That tickled Buddy even more, and he dropped onto the bed, kicking his legs and laughing so it hurt. Spittle flecked onto his beard-shadowed chin.

Spike shook her head, holding out a hand to him.

"Off my bed," she said breathlessly.

Buddy grabbed her hand and let her haul him up, but her weight pulled them both back. Spike landed on top of him. The thin material of the kimono allowed the curves of Spike's body to press firm but yielding against Buddy's muscular physique. Their laughter trailed off and left Buddy flushed. Spike sighed volubly and shut her mouth. Buddy looked her face over; the full lips, the cutely bobbed nose, the unlined, delicately sloped forehead framed by a halo of glowing hair.

"How do we even know we did anything?" Buddy reasoned.

Spike hesitated, eyes turning upward. "Well … we did."

They regarded one another silently, then Buddy said, "I'd better get going."

Spike said hopefully, "Call me later?"


	6. New Names, New Games

The clock struck two, and Giles raised his eyes from his research. Anya was ringing up a customer's purchase. Giles watched her. She gave change, okay. She handed over the bag with a smile, okay. She told the customer, "Please leave."

Giles sighed and returned to his research, making a mental note to refresh his employee on the proper exit platitudes.

Xander and Willow came in and headed straight for Giles.

"Good afternoon," Anya greeted brightly then, seeing who it was, said "Never mind."

"Hi, babe," Xander waved.

Anya surveyed the store embarrassedly. There were no customers. "Xander, don't use terms of endearment with me in public. People will think I'm a-"

Xander thrust a finger to his lips. .

"Oh, right. I'm sorry, Willow, I was going to say 'lesbian'."

Willow ignored her and dropped her armload of books on the research table. She took a chair, and Xander took a seat next to her, setting down his box. He peeled back the top.

"Donuts, anyone?"

Giles peered at the selection and picked out a jelly donut. "Thank you, uh, Xander."

"I came up empty," Willow tossed out. She took a glazed cruller from Xander's box and bit off half, chewed quickly then stuffed the other half in.

Xander said, "Wow, you must be hungry." He took a tiny bite of his powdered donut, checking his blouse for any crumbs.

I'm so hungry," Willow explained. She picked out a maple bar and set to work on it.

Giles took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I think I have an answer."

Willow perked up. "You do?"

"Well, the shadow of an answer, really." He pulled a large book over and thumbed through some tagged pages. "Here," he pointed, handing it over to Willow.

She read the passage quickly. "Yeah, right. It says here that Jezebeth will put a spell of lies, that - let's see…" She read for another moment. "Her transmogrification spell is subject to reversal, if the original curse was placed by a family member. Oh, Giles," she said, putting the book down, "you don't think someone in one of our families did this?"

Giles shook his head. "A cursory reading suggests that. But I cross-referenced the original Latin-" he pulled up a smaller book as exhibit A, then dropped it. "The family reference refers to Jezebeth's family."

Willow frowned, puzzled.

"Jezebeth's spells change people to grotesque beings. Now, no matter how unsettling our transformations have been, I wouldn't call us grotesque."

Xander dabbed the corner of his mouth with a paper napkin. "I'll say," he agreed.

"I did some more research." Giles went on, "and found a list of Jezebeth's known demon family. Only one is known to perform this particular curse, changing people's sexes. He's a … rather, uh-grotesque customer." He looked through the pile of books until he found the one he wanted. "Ah yes, here it is."

He laid the book in front of Willow, and she saw an illustration of Surgat. There was a certain amount of artistic license taken by the artist, and the scale was uncertain, but the resemblance, unknown to them, was very close.

"I've learned of Surgat's practices, and this particular curse has been rendered before."

Willow put her knuckles to her mouth and bit one. "Good news? Say good news."

"Terrible, really."

Willow exchanged a look with Xander, who dropped his powdered donut back into the box.

"Surgat's curse requires a retraction by the requestor. So far I haven't found a loophole."

Xander said, "How are we going to find out who requested the curse? It's impossible."

Willow slapped the table. "Whoever put the curse on us might be gone now, or never here to begin with. We'll never find him. Or her."

Giles held up a reassuring hand. "There may be a way to get the name from Surgat himself."

Willow looked doubtful.

"Wait now, I've learned that Surgat is an angry demon, who never lays a curse willingly. He must be coerced into it, by following a careful series of ceremonies. He delays, he does partial completions, needs to be summoned more than once. If the one requesting makes any mistake, forgets any part of the ceremony, it frees Surgat to attack that person."

Xander shook the donut box, moved it away from him. "Just our luck to have some anal retentive cursing us."

"There is always the hope that the curse is not finished yet, and there may be a mistake made that returns us to normal."

Willow smirked. "We're supposed to … just wait and see?"

"Of course not. But summoning Surgat to quiz him on his, uh, client list is something I'll have to be absolutely certain of, before I attempt a rising. Everything must be perfect down to the slightest detail. It is actually documented, things Surgat has done to those who fail."

"What's that?"

"Yeah," Xander seconded, "what's the penalty for leaving a cross off a tee?"

"He's an Incubus," Giles said.

Willow nodded, then saw Xander's quizzical expression.

"He rapes humans."

Xander whistled.

The bell above the door jangled, and Buddy strode in.

Giles stood up. "I need to see Buffy alone in back. Don't leave, I have something to give you first."

A scruffy garland of whiskers stood out on Buddy's face, making his Johnny Depp appearance more rugged.

"Buffy, g-good afternoon."

"Hey, Giles."

In the training room Giles took on a severe frown. "A vampire bit a woman last night, a block away from the cemetery. You let it get away."

"I can't be everywhere. How do you know it was just born?"

"She reported he had dirt all over him, and wore a suit that tied in the back."

"So, she survived."

"Others came to her aid. Did you patrol last night?" Giles studied him carefully.

Buddy turned his back on Giles and threw a half-hearted kick to the heavy bag. "I may have clocked off a little early. A case of diarrhea can really get you down."

Giles crossed his arms. "That's a well-worn excuse. I used it myself, in my youth." He walked around Buddy to look him in the face. "Was Spike there?"

Buddy began to shake his head, then rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. He had some gin at his crypt, I was feeling down. I drank too much. Won't happen again."

"Buffy, while we are in the throes of this curse, we have to maintain discipline and safety, and-"

"And blah-blah, blah-blah-blah," Buddy finished, walking a circle and swinging his arms in a carefree manner.

A thought hit Giles, and for a moment, shock registered starkly on his womanly features. He almost blurted something which he thought better of, and managed to retain his composure.

"I have new identities for us all," he said. "For, you know, the four of us."

"Why?"

"Practical matter. Get stopped by police, they demand I.D., we can't claim to be ourselves."

He pulled an envelope from his apron pocket. "It's a birth certificate and social security card. You can go to the DMV and get a picture I.D. Do it today, please."

Buddy took the envelope and pulled out the birth certificate. "Buddy Lee Morrison?"

Giles said defensively, "I was forced to use names of locals who died young, born about the same time as … as you look to have been born."

"Buffy to Buddy," Buddy mused aloud. "I never realized how odd the name Buffy sounds. Buddy. Buddy Summers."

"Buddy Morrison," Giles corrected. "Buddy Lee Morrison."

"Fine," Buddy replied, "but tell me what names the others are getting?"

"Hmm. Oh." Giles touched his temple to aid recollection. "Xander is Kendra Hughes, and Willow is, um, Alexander Fimple. I assumed that Spike can-I think he has several false identities already."

Buddy laughed. "Alexander. We can call Willow Xander."

"Um, yes. I suppose."

"Tell me your new moniker, Giles. Wouldn't want to call you by your real name in public, blow the charade."

Giles said, "My fake name is Hermione Down."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Angel hit town in a car with blacked-out windows. The phone calls he had made to Buffy's mother were not reassuring, and since he had some free time he decided he would check things out for himself.

He parked under some trees next to a large culvert, covered up with a woolen army blanket, and ran into the sewer system. He knew his path intimately, and headed for The Bronze to reconnoiter before visiting Buffy's house.

The Bronze was medium busy, with the bargain crowd assembled for happy hour. Some businessmen were flirting around a woman, who slouched seductively against a post, sipping a cocktail and laughing.

Angel passed them and ordered vodka neat at the bar. He turned to see the woman who was accumulating the admiration of suits. She stared right back at him. Angel was surprised to see that she resembled Marilyn Monroe, right down to the hairstyle and makeup. She was unbelievably beautiful. She said something to the men around her that they didn't like, then she sauntered toward him, swinging her hips.

"Hello, tiger," she purred at him, depositing her glass on the bar. "Buy a girl a drink?"

She ran a forefinger down Angel's arm, and he almost felt something, a sense that she was family. It was too faint a tug to gain his conscious attention.

"Huh? Sure," he agreed, and signaled to the mixologist.

"Another Manhattan," she said, and the bartender nodded and got to work.

"I don't remember seeing you around here,"

"I haven't seen you around here either," she said.

"I've been gone a while."

"I've been here a while," she said. Her Manhattan came, and she sipped it. "Oh, that's good." She licked the rim of the glass and regarded Angel from sleepy eyes.

Angel couldn't help but grin. "I'm sorry, you look so much like Marilyn Monroe. You must get that a lot."

She nodded, "Yeah, I get it. You could, too."

"Could what?"

"Get it."

Angel shook his head blankly. "Get what?"

Spike gritted her teeth. "Get it, get some, you stupid prig, it's called slang."

Angel stiffened. Marilyn Monroe's American accent had slipped.

"You sound like-no, it can't be."

"It's me, you cretin. Spike. Just havin' a bit o' fun, tempting you with the prime goods." She swept her eyes down in a survey of the goods, and ended the survey with a knowing flourish.

"I wasn't tempted!" Angel hissed, eyes darting around. The suits were watching them closely.

"You were. You were drooling over me, and if I didn't know I could break your spine at will, I think my bloody virtue would've been in danger."

Angel dropped his drink on the bar and scooped up Spike by her blouse. "The next words out of you better be an explanation of what the hell's going on."

The suits hurried over.

"Let the lady go," one of the beefier specimens commanded.

"Yeah, there are five of us, man."

The beefy man gripped Angel's arm, and Angel looked from him to Spike. He suddenly realized what this looked like. He released her, and patted her crinkled fabric.

"Sorry."

The beefy one punched him in the nose, and the blow knocked Angel into the bar.

"Go cop a feel on someone else," the beefy suit snarled.

"It's true," Spike wailed. "He's a molesting raping pervert who gropes unsuspecting women. Get him, boys."

Angel stepped toward her, then he was in a fight with the five suits.

Spike walked away, toward the exit to the sewer. "Beat his arse, er, ass, boys. My favors go to the one who does the most damage."


	7. The Spell Progresses

When Andrew walked into Rayne's muggy little hideout with Garnerbot, he was afraid the Englishman would detect his ruse and angrily pitch him out . But Rayne just looked at the handsome robot and nodded approval.

Andrew said, "My friend here looks a lot like an actor, doesn't he?"

Rayne shook Garnerbot's hand with indifference. "Nice to meet you, lad. Yes," he replied to Andrew, "this young chap has something. Have you ever done any acting?" he asked Garnerbot.

Garner set his jaw in annoyance and said, "I'm one of the most beloved actors of all time."

Rayne laughed heartily and slapped his shoulder. "You've a wonderfully droll sense of humor, young man. Gentlemen, follow me."

Rayne led them to his pentagram room and shut the door.

Andrew made a negative sound.

"What?' Rayne demanded.

"I don't want to use this room. It's your-" he whispered, "Surgat room."

Impatiently, Rayne said "That means everything but _everything_ is set correctly. I'm not paying you to perform elsewhere and make assurances to me. I have a lot at stake here, and I need to know the spell is done correctly. You must do the summoning here. I insist."

Andrew agreed with glum resignation. "I can smell that … other demon."

Garnerbot exhaled heavily. "When do I meet this lady?"

"That's up to Andrew," Rayne answered.

Andrew spread colored sand around the pentagram and chanted in a low voice. Rayne and Garnerbot stared at him. He met their eyes and stopped.

"I usually do this alone, so stop staring at me, it freaks me out."

Rayne and Garnerbot exchanged glances, and small nods. They turned away from Andrew.

"Got any cards?" Garnerbot asked.

Rayne's eyebrows shot up and he happily pulled out a deck from his pocket. "Are you a gambling man?"

"I've drawn to an inside straight or two," Garnerbot answered slyly. Rayne went to his worktable and started shuffling.

Andrew watched for a second, wondering if the psych profile Warren put in would give Garnerbot the card sharp skills of Brett Maverick.

"To work, boy." Rayne bellowed.

Andrew smiled, hoping Rayne would lose his shirt.

* * *

><p>Buddy was awakened by his mom's voice.<p>

"Buffy, you have company."

He rolled over and saw Joyce at his bedside. "Who is it?" Had to be Spike.

"Come and see," Joyce replied, and pulled the blankets off.

"Mom!"

He plod downstairs in his bed wear, sweats and tee, and saw Angel, whose face fell as he saw him. Buddy felt disappointed it wasn't Spike.

"It's true then," Angel said solemnly.

"What," Buddy retorted, "you thought this was some practical joke on you?"

"No. In fact, I already saw Spike. It's just strange to see you as a man."

"It took me a while to get used to it, too." Buddy went to the couch and sat. "Take a load off."

Angel chose the chair. Dawn sat down beside Buddy. Buddy harrumphed, then again, loudly.

"What? I can stay. Mom?"

Joyce's face appeared from around the corner. "Dawn, help me with dinner."

Dawn chittered in pique. "Why can't I visit with Angel too?"

"Dawn."

"Okay, fine."

Angel looked grim. "What did you mean, 'took you a while' to get used to it? You're actually used to it-used to being a man?"

"Don't hassle me over it, dude. I didn't ask for this to happen."

Angel sank back in his chair. "Dude?"

Buddy rolled his eyes. "Catch a falling word and put it in your pocket, save it for a rainy day."

Angel smiled lightly. "Invoking Perry Como? That's the Buffy I know."

Buddy raised his arms in a flourish. "Here I am as a man, is it what you expected?"

Angel shook his head. "In all my imaginings, I never thought of you as a man."

"A _blonde_ Johnny Depp at that. He's a big actor, you wouldn't know him. Maybe I can get a job as his double. Oh, I just remembered, "I'm Buddy now. Buddy Lee Morrison, courtesy of Mr. Giles."

"What d'you mean?"

Giles thinks it'll take a long time to reverse this spell, so until then he got us all false idents, something to fool the world at large. I robbed the name of some baby who died. I hafta get a picture I.D. to match my new birth certificate."

Angel leaned forward.

"How long?"

Buddy shrugged.

"What about patrols?"

"Gotta keep those going. I grabbed some sleep, now I'll eat some dinner. At dusk I'll be out there."

"I can do it for you."  
>"I appreciate it, Angel, but I'm in a man's body, not sick. I'd rather not sit around, anyway. I'll be fine."<p>

"You're right. I'll go with you, then."  
>Buddy calculated the chance of talking him out of that. He decided it would be better to allow it, counting on Spike not to be a pain and spill anything.<p>

"That'll be great," Buddy said, "like old times."

Dawn sauntered into the room. "Mom says, 'soups on', and she wants Angel to stay for dinner."

Buddy gave Angel a lopsided smile. "Will you fall on a roast for the team?"

Angel rocked back and forth, biting his lip. He hated eating. Then he rolled to his feet. "I'd love to," he said as convincingly as he could.

* * *

><p>Willow waited until Xander went to the bathroom to chastise Tara.<p>

"What were you thinking, inviting him without checking with me first?"

"He's your best friend," Tara whispered back, "and he has nobody. I would've thought you would want him to come."

Willow's manly features revealed guilt. "Oh, you're right. I don't know why I feel weird about it. When're those pizzas coming, anyway? I'm starved." She pushed a fist into her gut and vented a loud belch.

"Geez Louise," Tara commented.

"I can't help it. I'm a man. A big, stinking, hairy man. I'm rotten made of cotton." She touched Tara's cheek. "You're handy, made of candy."

Tara smiled dubiously. Slowly, she reached up and patted Willow's hand, then pulled it gently away.

"What?" Willow demanded.

"Company," Tara hissed, and Xander came back. "I love your parents' bathroom," he told Willow. "Does your dad mind all the frilly towels and soaps?"

"No, he just dumps wherever there's a toilet." She gave Tara a big overstuffed grin. "He's a _man_, after all."

After the pizza came they turned on TV and watched an episode of 8 Simple Rules.

"This is such a good show," Xander commented. He took small bites from the slice on his plate, chewing each bit, slow and thorough. Tara did the same, but longed for more. She usually let it hang out with Willow, chomping her way through four or five slices, but around Xander she felt inhibited. Or maybe she was just too aware of her wide hips and bottom. Xander's new body was so fit and nimble-looking. He _was_ Megan Fox, or some kind of fox, it seemed to her. She didn't mind the toey thumbs at all. The fact that Xander worried about it was kind of endearing.

Willow farted.

"Willow."

"Sorry." Willow took a massive bite of her pepperoni slice, then alternated to her loaded veggie slice. "Ugh, it's the veggies," she said through her stuffed mouth. The onions make me fart."

"I hate that word," Tara reminded, and Xander tittered to lighten the mood. Tara appreciated him even more, for that.

"All right. The onions make me _blat_. Make me toot. Make me float an air biscuit. Make me whistle-"

Xander laughed some more, but Tara set her eyes on the TV screen and tried to ignore Willow. When Willow was finished eating she set her plate on the coffee table and stared morosely at the TV until the show was over.

She yawned and stretched. "I'm getting tired.

Xander stood. "I should be getting home."

Tara said, "I need a walk. Why don't I go with you?"

Willow scowled. "We need to look over those books. Giles is expecting it."

"I thought you were tired."

Xander looked from one to the other. "I can help with the research, guys. I can hand you books, paper, pens. Maybe look at some pictures."

Tara looked expectantly at Willow.

"Fine, go walk your boyfriend home," Willow waved at them. "Maybe I will hit the sack."

She flatulated as she turned to walk away.

"I was holding back," she threw at them, "but you took too long."

Xander laughed. Tara shook her head.

On the way to Xander's Tara poured out her frustrations. "She's acting more and more like a guy, a jerk. I always get the feeling she's mad at me. She seems brutish, so mean all the time. She gets too physical."

"How do you mean, physical?"

"Well, she's not hitting me, she never would do that. But the way she walks around, the things she does. It's like she's got too much energy. Too strong. Banging around, pushing, shoving things."

"Like a man."

Tara touched some leaves that hung low from a tree. "You think that's all it is?"

Xander pulled a sprig from the tree, began pulling the leaves off one by one. "Sure it is. You're used to gentleness, and Willow's the most gentle girl I've ever been around."

"I-I miss her, you know."

Xander put a hand on Tara's arm. "She's still there. And she needs you."

Tara shrugged one shoulder sadly. She felt for Xander's arm and held his elbow as they walked.

At his place she waited as he unlocked his basement door.

"Thanks for walking me home. This tiny body would look real vulnerable to any night beasties."  
>"And my big fat body would scare them away."<p>

"No, not at all, don't say that. You _do _know you're beautiful don't you? You should."

Tara looked at the ground shyly. "You _have_ to say that."

Xander pushed open the door and went in, and Tara followed. He turned on the lights. "That's not true. Or well, it's true I would tell you that, even if it weren't true. But it _is_ true, which means I don't have to lie."

"Well, I think you're nice for saying it, and that's no lie." Tara pulled the much smaller Xander to her in a hug. He relented, then returned the hug, patting Tara's back sympathetically. Then Tara kissed his ear, and a warm, unexpected and completely foreign sensation came over Xander. He felt his body melt like an ice cream in a furnace, and shocked himself as he heard his pleasurable moan come from his own mouth.

Tara pulled back and smiled at him. Xander tried to blast discouragement with his still unaccustomed feminine face. What Tara saw must have failed to get the message across.

She kissed him.

"Tara,' he panted after the best kiss he could recall his whole lifelong, "Willow is my friend."  
>Tara hesitated. "She's my lover. I love her very much, so we're even."<p>

That oddly seemed like airtight logic to Xander, who eagerly turned up his face to kiss Tara again.

Shortly after, the lights went out at Xander Central.


	8. Dangerously Close

Giles' vision was blurring when the clock struck seven, and he removed his glasses and looked up to see Anya standing in front of the cash register, watching him.

"Anya, what are you still doing here?"

"I want to be a good employee, like you and Xander have been telling me I should. I've even been reading a book on impressing your boss, called _Succeed in Spite of Your Boss_, and it says I should be here before you get in, and stay until after you leave."

"Anya," Giles said slowly, casting about for something to say, "Er, you are, um, a good- I mean, an excellent worker, and-I, um, treasure-er, value your contribution. You don't need to-"

"I also bought another book for you." Anya walked to him and put down a slender volume she had been holding out of sight. "It's about how to be a better boss, maybe you can read it too. I paid nineteen ninety-five. You can reimburse me if you want."

"Leading With Compassion," Giles read. He riffled through the pages, nodding approvingly. "Yes, yes, it looks good. I'll read it."

"With tax it was twenty-one fifty-five."

Giles smiled wanly. "But I didn't ask you to purchase this, Anya."

Anya took a step backward. "Maybe you didn't read the 'compassion' part of the title."

Giles winced. "Fine," he said. "You can reimburse yourself from the till."

Anya smiled cheekily. "Already did. I knew you would get the message. Well, it'll be dark in about an hour. I'll run along."

She picked up her purse and headed for the door.

"Sorry you had to stay so late," Giles called.

"That's okay. I'm not having sex with Xander while he's a girl, so what's to go home to anyway?"

Giles slipped his glasses back on. "Quite right," he agreed quietly.

He marked his place in his book and set it behind the counter. Might as well head home now. While he was locking the front door outside, a young man dressed in a suit walked up to him.

"Excuse me, are you closing?" His voice was pleasant and manly, and Giles surveyed his appearance. He was tall and square-jawed, with close-cropped, black curly hair and an engaging smile.

"Yes, I'm afraid we're closed now. Closed at six, actually."

"Well, that's a shame," the man said, rubbing his palms together with nervous energy. He smiled and cocked his brows self-deprecatingly, and held out his hand. "I'll have to swing by tomorrow a little earlier, Miss, hmm - ?"

Without conscious thought Giles took the proffered hand and shook it. "Mister," he corrected. Then, "No-it's Missus-er, no!"

The man's expression turned wryly amused. "You having a little trouble deciding? We could continue this later."

The sensation of the man's hand had Giles flustered. It was suddenly important to get this right. "Miss! You were right, I am a miss."

The man tactfully disengaged his hand. "Thank you, I'm good at guessing games. I think I draw the line at guessing your name, though."

"Giles! No, no, it's not Giles. Ah, you must take me for an idiot."

"No, but I would like to take you for coffee."

A thrill ran up Giles' spine, and he shook it off. "I'm sorry," he told the man.

"No coffee, then how about dinner?"

"Oh, no. I mean I'm sorry about my manner. My name is Gil-I mean, I'm Julie Andr-oh, bugger it!"

"We can get decaf," the man suggested helpfully.

"Dinner would be lovely," Giles managed to say. "My name is Hermione …"

"Yes?"

"Hermione … I'll let you know the rest when I can recall it."

"Wonderful." The young man held out an arm and Giles obligingly took it.

_What in God's name are you doing Giles? He's a man, a handsome man, and you're a woman! Aw damn! I mean I'm a woman. I'm a woman! No, it's the opposite. A man, a man damn you, you silly bitch._

His inner struggle remained unreadable on his face, and the young man regarded him contentedly and said, "My name is James. James Garner. Did anyone ever tell you that you look just like Julie Andrews?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Angel and Buddy walked in the gathering darkness, skirting the gravestones and listening for anything telltale to guide them to newly birthed vampires.

"We don't make a lot," Angel was saying. "And we have some overhead, but there's lots of money in L.A., so we'll do okay. I have a lot of savings, anyway. And I've sold a few antiques … they were new to me when I bought them. I can't believe so much time has passed, there's so many things that've turned antique."

"That's an advantage," Buddy replied. "I don't get much cash, Mom has to buy me everything. I'm always wishing I could help out."

"Buffy, what you do is huge. You keep the world safe."

Buddy closed his eyes and nodded tiredly. "I know, I know, but Mom is always hustling the next buck. Her health hasn't been so great. The strain…" he trailed off.

Angel had heard it all already. He sniffed the air.

"'Ello, sports fans." Spike appeared from the foliage, wearing her signature black longcoat. She twisted her hair playfully with her fingers. "I hear you're looking for a vampire or two?"

Angel's scowl bordered just north of vamping. "Our first kill of the night," he threatened.

Spike looked shocked. "Is that any way to treat a lady? I liked it much better when you were buying me a drink and trying to pry open my chastity belt."

"Shuddup Spike!"

"You were what?"

"Don't listen to her," Angel spat. "I mean him." He took a step toward Spike, who retreated and put her hands up defensively.

"Come on, Angel, knock it off."

Angel looked at Buddy, shrugged, and flicked his fingers contemptuously at the blonde vampire.

"Your appearance finally matches your interior, after all these years, Willie."

Spike said cattily, "You see? He always knew I was beautiful."

"Were you really attracted to him?" Buddy demanded.

Angel held up his hands defensively, gargling a revolted denial. "Wha-well, look, I didn't know-he came up and asked for a drink."

"Don't worry Buffy, I'm just for you."

"What?" Angel turned on Buddy accusingly.

Buddy gave Spike a look. "Keep it up, Spike, it'll get you nowhere. He thinks," she told Angel, "that he's so appealing, now he's a woman. He rubs everyone like a cat. It's really just … sad."

Spike opened her mouth to retort.

"If you want to patrol with us," Buddy said hurriedly, "you'll shut up and follow along. Otherwise, crawl back under your rock."

Spike fell silent. She tossed her hair back and pursed her lips decisively.

"We good? Okay." Buddy rolled his eyes and led the two vampires along the path, wishing fervently that neither one was there to complicate a simple patrol.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Anya dialed Buffy's number and talked with Joyce. Xander wasn't there, and she hadn't seen him all day. Fine, she thought, I'll call Willow. Willow answered and told her about Xander crashing their little dinner party.

"I'm sorry," Anya told Willow. "I know he can be such a pig."

The line was silent, and Anya looked at the receiver to see if it might have broken. "That's okay," Willow said finally. "Just call his place."

"Okay," Anya said, and hung up. She didn't mention that she had already called several times. The voicemail came on immediately each time, meaning he had his phone turned off. She contemplated going over there, but the thought of seeing her boyfriend all pretty and petite made her want to gag.

She thought of Willow though, with his strong and handsome, Colin Farrell features. It was too bad Xander wasn't more … bohemian, so she could convince Willow to have sex while she was in the man's body. Oh well, this is the way regular people are, she told herself.

She went to her refrigerator and pulled out a slab of Dorchester cheese. Holding it up to her face, she breathed deeply its lovely, sour aroma. Mmm, she thought, you're almost perfect.

Ready to compromise with imperfection, she sliced a nice wedge and munched the cheese slowly. Xander is like this cheese. He's not perfect, but he's pretty darned good.

It occurred to her that Xander might miss her. Even though he disgusted her, she would still be irresistible to him. She hadn't changed

I've been selfish, she decided. Xander was probably playing the hermit because he knew he was hideous. After brushing her teeth and swilling mouthwash to get the cheese off her breath, she changed into a sexy combo and left for Xander's basement. The prospect of his basement made her feel ill, but her magnanimous selflessness allowed her to overlook it.

The basement door was locked, so Anya used her key. Xander didn't know she had it. She had pressed his key against a slab of cold brie and had a felon she knew make a copy. This was her first time seeing if it worked.

It did. She let herself in, flicked on the light, and screamed.

Tara was in bed with her Megan Fox-lookalike Xander.

"Sick," she shrieked, looking for something to throw. She threw her keys, and they ducked as it hit the wall behind them. "You two are perverts. Look at you, Tara. With a man? I thought you were a lesbian."

Tara looked back at her shamefacedly. "I-I am, Anya."

Xander said "Look, honey, I-"

"No terms of endearment, mister." She switched off the lights and stepped out, slamming the door. "Ooh," she graveled, "I should change him into a troll."

Instead, she began to run.


	9. Slipsliding Away

Willow was agitated. A walk to Xander's house and back should take no more than twenty minutes, and an hour later, no Tara. She strode purposefully along the dark street feeling secure against any attackers, but not because she could use magics against them.

She was so irritated she would tear them limb from limb.

A couple out for a stroll passed her, and they said something like hi, but she ignored them.

Then she saw Anya running her way, across the street. Willow called her name. Either Anya didn't hear or else she just ignored her, so Willow cast up an arm and incanted, "Hold!"

Anya's forward motion stopped, as she bounced off a transparent force. She looked Willow's way and waved pettishly.

"Why are you running?" Willow demanded.

"Oh, hello, Mister Fimple," Anya returned. "Can you please keep your magic goo out of my way? I was running."

"Don't call me that."

"What, _Fimple_? It's your new name. Miss Down said we should use all your new names in public, so you'll get used to them. Can I call you Alex then? Calling you Xander would confuse everyone."

"Fine," Willow sighed. "I'm headed for Xander's house." She studied Anya's reaction. "Were you there just now?"

"You mean Kendra Hughes' house. Yes. I was there, and you don't want to go unless you want heartbreak. Kendra's in bed with Tara. I suppose I should have expected it, since I was holding out and all."

Willow's eyes turned to dark flints and she hurried past Anya without another word.

"Go get them," Anya urged. "I once turned my husband into a troll, so there are options."

Around the next corner she encountered Tara hurrying her way. As they locked eyes Tara slowed her gait. Her head declined like a naughty dog's, and Willow knew it was true. She did an about-face and wiped her eyes with a sleeve.

"Willow," Tara called diffidently. "I was just coming-"

"Right." Willow swung around, her eyes shining. "You were doing Xander. Did he, like … rub those sick thumbs all over you?"

"No," Tara protested. "It was something else, there-"

"So that's what you were looking for, something else?" Tara started to reply but Willow slashed the air and muttered a quick incantation. Tara's voice was gone.

"Isn't this different?" Willow indicated her body. "If you wanted to walk the wild side, honey, how is cheating with another woman so different? You just wanted to cheat, that's all. And I gave my heart to you, you stinking, whiney little butch, and you have the balls to bed down with my best friend. My best friend, and right now- tonight - when I can't miss finding out. I hate you.

"You're nothing to me. You're not a lover, you're not a friend. I don't want to know you, or what you do. You can pick up your stuff from my parents' and my dorm. Call in advance so I don't have to be there."

She grasped Tara's face in her hands and planted an angry kiss on her lips.

"You broke my heart, Tara. You broke my heart."

Willow pushed her away. With a dismissive fillip she released the gag, and Tara babbled excuses.

"Willow, you don't understand. I don't like Xander that way, it was something else. It was magic!"

Willow covered her ears and began to run. Magic, she called it. With all the magic she could give Tara, she had to seek the magical charms of her doofus pal. It had to be Xander. Really? Just 'cause he's encased in, like, that really hot body.

She caught up to Anya.

"Hey Mister Fimp-er, Alex. Did you see them together? You're back so quickly. You didn't see them, did you? I wanted them both to be trolls."

"They're already there," Willow retorted. "Anya," she went on casually," walking along with the ex-demon, "you like the way I look, right?"

"Yes, very much. You look like Colin Farrell, although you butchered your bushy eyebrows. You should let them grow in again."

"Why don't we go to your place. Better yet, let's get a motel room."

"Why?"

"Revenge." Willow's fists choked an invisible neck before her.

"We can't get revenge unless we're in a motel?"

"To sleep with each other, Anya."

"I can sleep at home. I'd rather have se-"

Anya smiled slyly. "You want to have sex with me?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Anya's smile faded. "My heart is broken, though. I don't think I can enjoy it so much."

"I'll pay for the room."

"Okay." Anya brightened. They turned in the direction of downtown.

"It's a great idea. I should've done something like this the first time, instead of turning Olaf into a troll. Of course, I'd've been stoned for sure by the townspeople. They looked harshly on adultery by women. But Olaf's heart would have shattered like mine. Instead, as a troll he goes around-"

Willow whispered a temporary deafness spell for herself, letting Anya chatter away happily until they reached the Motel 6.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ethan Rayne sat sipping tea and glaring at Andrew, who stood uncomfortably before him. He smacked his lips and set the mug on a side table.

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"Hey, I only followed them to her - I mean, the Giles guy's house. They went in. I can't see through walls, Mr. Rayne."

Rayne rose quickly and marched to the end of the room to a stack of iron bars lay. Picking one up, he bent it in his hands, his breath hiccupping with effort. He threw it down with a clatter. Gathering momentum, he leapt forward and up, and completed nearly an entire flip. He landed on his tailbone and grimaced with the pain. After rocking his body for a moment, he recovered and got up.

"This is still too difficult," he snarled. "I have more energy, more strength, but not near enough. They couldn't have all caved in yet. Giles must not have succumbed.

"I paid you!" he shouted, leveling a finger at Andrew. "I paid you quite handsomely for a simple love curse on Rupert Giles. How can he be in love if I can't do this?"

Rayne essayed a cartwheel, turned it into a somersault and a gainer and smashed upside-down into the wall. He grunted in pain, and got up, presenting himself to Andrew expectantly.

"Well?"

"Mr. Rayne, my man got into Giles' apartment the same night they met. I don't know this Giles at all, but does that sound like something he would do if he weren't under a love spell?"

Rayne pulled at his chin thoughtfully. You're right," he announced, going back to his tea. "He was never one for shagging, except for one all-to-brief, glorious period when he was the Ripper." He grinned at the memory. "Oh, Ripper was all for the birds, let me tell you. For a while there, he exhibited true magnetism."

His grin disappeared, and he jabbed his finger accusingly at Andrew. "I had better get their powers, I mean all of them. Or I will make your sorry life such a burden you'll beg me for death."

Andrew recoiled. "Dude, you've been hanging with the bad boy too much."

Rayne stepped toward him. "What's that you say, boy?"

"I'm on your side, Mister Rayne." Andrew retreated until his back was to the wall. "I did the spell. You have to give it more than just one day."

Rayne thought about that. He gulped the last of his tea and threw the mug to shatter on the pile of iron bars. "You're right, boy. The magics I have summoned are playing with my ego. Trying to make me mad with power. Yes, you've done your job. You're to be commended."

He pulled a wad of money from his hip pocket. "Here's another five thousand. I want you to keep an eye on Giles, tell me when you think the time has come.

"You should have stayed!" he thundered disjointedly. "You could have given me a more complete report."

He unclenched his fists and laughed. "Whoo. Look at me. Here, Andrew, take the money."

Andrew reached way out with wary fingers.

"I should have had you place the spell on yourself."

Andrew's face pinched in distaste.

"Or in fact on me, myself. Yes. I could have disguised myself. He would fall in love with me … then I could lord it over him as soon as the act was complete. The double agony of Rupert Giles' fall from grace, to find out the man he loved…"

Andrew backed toward the door, slowly pocketing the money. He nodded encouragement as Rayne's eyes bulged his way. He got the door open and with a final wave, closed it and ran for all he was worth.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Giles whistled the chorus to _Rule Britannia_ as he opened up The Magic Shop. He was surprised not to see Anya already there, but then again she had put in late hours the day before.

He observed the heavy pile of books on the table and wondered why he had left such a frightful mess. That was an eyesore to his customers. It took him forty minutes to restore all the books to their rightful berths on the shelves. All part of the Dewey Decimal System that had yet to fail him.

A _goth_ wannabe wiccan trundled in, buying a slurry of nonsense for whatnot. She paid in mostly coins, but instead of being annoyed, Giles chuckled and told her he was short on change, so this worked out nicely. It was a lie, of course, he always started the day with a full complement of coins in the register, but he wished to ease her embarrassment.

"Good day now, come again," he singsonged as she left. She gave him a sarcastic eye roll.

Something tugged at his mind, then. He frowned, trying to remember it. It was probably James he wished to think about. Ah yes, James. The image of his handsome face made him smile.

Giles clenched his fists. This was disastrous. He was Rupert Giles, not Hermione … whatever. He surveyed the research table, not recalling why there was a dearth of books there.

_I must have put them away_.

He went over the scene with the goth girl, recalling his fawning obsequiousness.

"This is not me," he cried aloud, grabbing his head in his hands. He felt his hair go askew, and tried to straighten it. "Goodness," he breathed, reaching for his clasp and hairpin. His chestnut brown hair fell over his shoulders, and he set down the hardware and began gathering his locks. He paused, thinking, this isn't right, and let the hair drop back down. Jim would probably love to see him with his hair down. He remembered their long goodbye, exchanging niceties at the door. Did he want a kiss? Certainly. maybe one kiss would have been … no, no. Men are more interested if a woman holds back.

The door opened and a pair of teenagers came in. The girl had studs piercing her lip, her eyebrow and her nose. The boy wore pants that sagged so low, he hobbled like a prisoner on a chain gang.

"Well, good afternoon," Giles greeted them, smiling warmly.


	10. Andrew Slipped in a Trick

Warren ordered steak and lobster, with an appetizer of Spanish tapas. Andrew looked over

Le Bistro's hoity-toity menu, mainly paying attention to the prices. Springing for dinner was Warren's insistence, payment for using Garnerbot. Garnerbot sat perusing his own menu, and Andrew whispered to Warren, "Garner's not going to eat, is he?"

"I can hear you," Garner said, annoyed. "And I am eating."

Andrew looked to Warren for help.

"What? He can eat, Andrew. And, uh, don't keep the gentleman waiting."

The waiter's face betrayed no impatience, not at these prices. Andrew said, "I'll take a Nicoise salad. And more water. Are these breadsticks free?"

Garnerbot broke in. "I'll take the garden quiche and foie gras diskettes with a fig and olive tapenade. For the entrée I'll have filet mignon and a split of burgundy."

"Very good, sir," the waiter encouraged.

Andrew rolled his eyes. Quite an unexpected gourmand, this copy of an actor from Oklahoma. He could almost feel the wad of money in his pocket shrinking.

"And for dessert, I'll have the Baked Alaska," Garnerbot finished.

"Oh, that sounds good," Warren enthused. "Put me down for one of those, too."

"Instead of the Cherries Jubilee, sir?"

"Nah, in addition to it."

Andrew saw wings on his money. He sighed, "Can we talk about this now?"

"Sure," Warren agreed, sipping Madeira.

"That spell? It hasn't worked yet. The Giles guy hasn't fallen for Rockford-Garner here."

"Yeah, I meant to ask, is this guy gay or what?"

"What the hell are you two gumdrops talking about?" Garnerbot demanded.

"Butt out, Jimbo," Warren advised, "we're not talking about you."

"He isn't gay, he's been turned into a woman. By the guy I'm working for."

Warren leaned toward him, "You didn't say you were working for anyone. No one's supposed to know about my 'bots!"

"He doesn't. I sold Garner as a real dude. The guy's from England, he doesn't know TV."

"Do you two fruits know how many movies I've starred in? I've been nominated for an Academy Award for Best Actor, and-"

Warren interrupted. "We all know about your uncanny ability to move successfully between TV and movies, Jim. But we're not fruits and this isn't your business. Just sit there, enjoy your meal, and shut up."

Jim threw his chair back. An attendant hurried to assist him. "I'm leaving," he snapped, tossing his napkin on the table. "I'm going back to the basement. See you later."

Andrew said, "What about your expensive dinner?"

"Have them wrap it up for me," Garnerbot said, "it'll make a … nice snack."

As he walked away Andrew and Warren exchanged knowing glances. Warren grinned. "Rockford Files."

"The Funny Box episode."

"With Chuck McCann," Warren added. He asked the attendant, "You watch The Rockford Files?"

"Mmm? No, sir," he replied, retreating without concluding, I have a life.

The appetizers came, and Andrew noshed Garnerbot's quiche. Warren asked, "Why did you want to use the 'bot for a love spell, anyway?"

Andrew picked up his napkin from the table and wiped his mouth, then threw the napkin back among the many glasses and forks that bewildered him in their number. "Because, man, this dude's a real nutcake. He's talking about domination, conquering, control. Taking over, Hitler stuff like that."

"Don't get Hitler into this. If there's no genocide, there's no comparison."

"This guy wants genocide too. I can see it in his eyes."

"Okay." Warren took champagne from its bucket and filled his water glass. "You don't want him to succeed."

"Right, I don't. I figured if Giles fell in love with a 'bot, when the deal was sealed with them, it might make the flake think he's won."

Warren swallowed a mouthful of champagne and stifled a belch. "What'll happen if Giles sleeps with a 'bot?"

Andrew folded his hands. "I'll look that up in the ancient texts, see what the Druids thought about android fornication."

"Okay, undiscovered country." They leaned back as the entrees were served. "Eat up," Warren said, "there are Garners in the world going to bed hungry."

Between bites of filet mignon Andrew asked, "What's with the 'bot being able to eat? What happens to all the food?"

Warren steepled his fingers smugly. "It all channels down his right leg. Open the bottom of his foot and Voila!"

"That would be a great place for all this expensive dinner to wind up."

"So it's good you only ordered a nicotine salad."

"Nicoise salad, you dork."

Warren leaned over confidentially. "How can you afford this, really?"

"Oh. The weirdo gave me some money."

"Give me some."

"I won't have any left over."

"Let me see."

"See what?" Andrew asked suspiciously.

Warren got up, waving away the attendant. He rounded the table to Andrew and demanded, "Turn out your pockets."

"You're making a scene."

Warren pulled Andrew from his chair, grabbing for his pocket. Andrew wrestled, but resistance was futile. Within seconds Warren had him pinned facedown on the table, knocking over a couple of glasses.

"Sir," the waiter hissed, "gentlemen! Is there a problem?"

"No," Warren assured him, flensing Andrew's pocket of cash. "No prob, Garcon. He's my bitch-I mean, my friend. He just forgot he's paying for dinner. Thinks we should wash dishes instead."

"In that case sir, proceed."

The waiter withdrew.

…

Joyce Summers was a concerned mother. She was concerned about her two daughters, both of them, as a mother tends to be. She worried a lot more than usual lately about her tall, bearded daughter with Johnny Depp's face.. She worried, and was nosey. She opened her daughter's bedroom door abruptly without knocking, and surprised Buddy as he undressed Spike.

"Buffy," Joyce gasped, the door banging against the floor spring that jutted from the molding. Spike stood before Buddy, who sat on the bed and had been taking Spike's jeans down.

"Mother!" Buddy hauled the jeans up so fast she lifted Spike right off her feet.

"Ooh, Luv," Spike complained. "You're tearing me nethers."

Joyce backed against the door, feeling lightjeaded. Buddy hastily gathered up Spike's shirt and coat and pressed them on her body as if they should stick there.

"Now Joyce, we're all adults here," Spike said.

"I-I have a v-very impressionable daughter living in-in this house," Joyce stammered, "and-"

"And she's right there," Spike finished, pointing. "Hallo, Little Bit."

"Hi, slutwad," Dawn answered crisply.

Spike cocked her head in shock.

Buddy wrapped her clothes tightly over her breasts. He half-pushed, half-carried Spike to the window. "It wasn't me, Mom," Buddy spilled out desperately. "She sneaked in. She had a rash. She wouldn't take no for an answer." He pushed Spike, struggling and protesting, out the window headfirst. They heard a high-pitched scream followed by a thud and thrashing in the shrubbery below.

"Dawn, go back to bed," Joyce commanded.

"Aw Mom," Dawn griped.

"Go!"

"Hey now," Spike called from outside. "Don't bother about me. Certainly don't look out to see if I'm paralyzed, or need anything. I'll survive. Breathe easy."

Buddy looked out and hissed something at her.

"I'm sorry, Spike," Joyce called out. "Buffy! Why would you do something like that? She's just-just …"

"Just a woman? I know, it's confusing, isn't it? Look Mom, I'm sorry I brought her in here-"

"Him, Buffy, don't forget, Spike's a man, and you're a woman." She closed the door and leaned against the wall. "You can't lose sight of the facts."

"I can't, Mom." Buddy sat on the bed. "I don't want to act like a man, but the facts are I am one. The facts stare me straight in the face every minute. I can't, um, I can't really relate to people right now, that's another fact."

"Except for him."

"Spike's in the same boat I'm in, Mom."

Joyce shuffled over and slumped onto the bed next to him. "I don't know what we're going to do. You're supposed to start college in a month."

"This'll all be over by then."

"Will it," Joyce said doubtfully. "How?"

Buddy shrugged. "Giles. Mom. he's working on it."

"Maybe you two should be working on it, too."

"Do you know where we were, me and Spike, up until ten minutes ago? We were fighting six vampires who crawled from graves to kill, and they would have killed us if we didn't … kick their asses with everything we had."

"Language, Buffy."

"Sorry Mom. My point is," he got up and paced the floor, "is that my life is a mess, a weird, unique, total swirl of craziness. I think Spike right now, is an anchor."

Joyce looked at her son in anguish. "I know it is, sweetheart. We should never have come here."

Buddy leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Wouldn't have mattered. A slayer's a slayer no matter where he happens to be."

Joyce tried to formulate her thoughts, and Buddy gave her time, sitting next to her again.

"I want to understand. You need Spike right now, okay, I get that. Maybe you can … can go …"

"To her place?"

Joyce nodded glumly.

"Thanks, Mom. We will. It's, um, a little cold, but, okay.

"And Mom?"

"Mm-hmm?"

Giles suggested we go by our fake names during this curse period, make it easier if we're stopped by the Gestapo. Can you start calling me Buddy? Just until this thing reverses."

Joyce hung her head. "You hear of this thing happening, but you never think it'll be your own child."

…

Xander, now Kendra, hummed to herself as she shaved her legs, a tune that came to her without conscious thought, until she began to sing softly.

Girls, they want to have fu-un, oh girls, they want to have fun.

She finished shaving and ran her hands along her smooth, glabrous gams. I'm beautiful, she thought, and this is my prime, my time to shine.

Her closet yielded only those few things cobbled together from her mother's overstuffed closet, along with some handouts from Willow. The thought of her friend filled Kendra with guilt, so he shook off the thought of her.

Kendra looked at her checkbook, somewhat anemic since she stopped working at construction. She decided that a couple hundred could go for some new outfits. Gotta find my debit card, she remembered. No writing checks under this name.

She picked up the phone and started calling Willow, to see if she wanted to shop along. Then, the Willowy image in his mind melted into the manly visage that was Alex Fimple. She disconnected and called Tara instead.

…

Giles, now Hermione Down, surveyed her toiletries, finding no perfume. She half-shrugged, figuring Jim should find her natural scent attractive. Of course, her wardrobe could stand a bit of a tweak, what with all these tweeds and sweaters, slacks and leggings. All her clothes were so dowdy, she resolved to drive that very morning to the mall. She would purchase some softer, more feminine fashions. Maybe some underclothes less supportive and more evocative. The idea made her blush.

She got her keys and drove for The Magic Box. As she parked a strange feeling hit her, a thought that persisted like an alarm.

"Oh my God," he said, "I'm losing myself."

Giles unlocked the front door and hurried to the register, snatching up a pen and some paper. Writing feverishly, he wrote spell mks u blv ur a wmn- rmbmbr u r rupert giles - counter spell

The bell jangled, and Garnerbot breezed in. ""Good morning, Hermione."

Hermione Down looked up and smiled coquettishly. "Oh, good morning, Jim," she said, adjusting her flowing hair with her fingers.


	11. Rayne Reigns?

Tara waited outside The Magic Box, hidden by a concealment spell, until Anya came sneaking up to open the store.

"What are you doing here?" Anya asked. "Aren't you supposed to be in college or something?"

"It doesn't start for another few weeks, if it starts at all. I need to talk to you Anya, do you have a couple of minutes?"

Anya shrugged and went in. Tara followed.

"I have to open up, but you can talk to me while I do."

"I haven't seen Willow in a week," Tara said, "or Xander, or Giles."

Anya went to the register and turned it on. She checked the paper roll and knelt to unlock the change safe.

"Anya, are you ignoring me?"

"No. I heard you. You haven't seen Alex, or Kendra, or Miss Down. That's a statement, not a question."

"Have you seen them?"

Anya rose and put the change tray in the register, slapping the drawer shut. "I haven't seen my ex-boyfriend Xander since you decided to sleep with him while he's a delightfully pretty lesbian. I haven't seen Willow since I had a one-night stand with her good-looking man-body at the cheapest motel she could find."

Tara drew in a sharp breath. Her hand shot to her mouth.

"Turnabout's a bitch, isn't it?" Anya picked up a feather duster and swooped away toward the bookshelves. "I've seen Giles, or Hermione Down, as you should call her, two days ago when she came in with her fiancé to tell me she's getting married."

"How about Buffy?"

"Mmm. Not so much. Why do you ask?"

Tara just looked at her.

Outside, demons of various types and sizes and temperaments roamed freely. Havoc erupted from place to place, wherever a demon encountered a human who expressed some dissatisfaction at the comportment of said demon.

"If you don't like the way I treat your wife," a beefy Farrago demon snarled, lifting a luckless man over his head, "why'd you bother to get married to 'er?"

With that he threw the man onto a parked Honda Civic. The windshield shattered and the man disappeared inside the car.

The Farrago demon threw back his head and laughed and then, taking on a serious look, he said, "Thirty mpg city, forty-five highway. What can I do to put you in this car today?"

There was no sign of life in the vehicle.

"That's right, I forgot!" the demon howled. "I already put you in it."

"That's not very funny."

The demon whipped around.

"Huh? Was that you said that?"

"A Welter demon stood leaning against a parking meter." "Yes I did. So what? You want to make something out of it?"

"No. I just thought you might be the slayer. I've been kind of waiting to hear some wisecrack, it's a typical prelude to slayer combat ."

"Yeah?" The Welter demon was bored.

"There is no need to fear the slayer any longer," Ethan Rayne intoned, walking imperiously up to them. "Her misguided ways are a thing of the past. I am the new being to fear in Sunnydale."

The two demons laughed at him.

Tara pointed to the outside. "Anya, if you didn't know what was going on out there, why did you sneak up under protection? I can feel a spell on the Magic Box itself."

"I should have put up a spell against nosey busybodies."

There was an explosion outside. The two women ran to the window and parted the blinds. Down the street, Ethan Rayne stood with his arms raised before a flaming Honda Civic, while two demons rotated above it, cooking evenly.

Anya took a deep breath and turned to Tara. "Buffy went to Vegas and married Spike and Xander's stripping at a club on the strip, Willow left in a rented car and Giles is shacking up at his place with that good-looking robot."

Tara's head spun. "Buffy married-Xander's stripping-did you say Giles and a robot?"

Anya nodded. "You guys can't tell, but I can." She smiled smugly. "I know things, too."

The door flew open. Tara and Anya retreated as Rayne floated in, ducking so as not to hit his head on the threshold. He saw the girls and de-levitated to the floor.

He wore royal colors, a purple ermine tunic with vermillion trim. A large medallion hung around his neck. His trousers were gray, silk damask leggings, with knee high boots of charcoal black leather.

Anya screwed up her face. "Ugh. What is that you're wearing?"

Rayne scowled and drew back his hand, as if about to strike out. Then, calming himself, he brought it down again.

"I am clad in the appointments accorded a god who is no man's servant."

"Right. So you answer to no one, but feel compelled to wear that fruity crap?"

"Anya," Tara shot her a warning look.

Anya leaned in close to her. "The source of his power is in the medallion. See if you can get it."

Rayne once again controlled his anger. "I have come to find Giles. I wish to share something with him." His eyes shot to and fro. "Is he here?"

"No."

"Okay then." Rayne half-turned, then an idea struck him. "This is Giles' store, isn't it?"

Anya's face froze.

Tara said, "No, no, it used to be. But he sold it to Hawsnn volunn fffuffr."

"Who?" Rayne was becoming very annoyed.

Tara stepped closer to him. "I said, he sold it to-"

She grabbed the medallion and hauled away with her entire body weight. The medallion whipped off with ease and Tara flew back and hit the floor.

Anya clapped her hands together and burst into a relieved laugh. "So cool. Tara, you're fantastic. Whoo! Big shot, new god in town, eh?" She stepped toward Rayne with her shoulders squared back. "Crawl away, you sorry little man, you have no more power here. I was vengeance demon once, the best. I can still wreak a little bloody vengeance on you. You … tiny penis little boy."

"No, Anya, don't."

Anya scoffed. "Why? He's the one advertising, wearing those tights. My statement is accurate and insulting."

"No, that's not what I mean. It's this." Tara stood up and held out the medallion. Anya looked closely and read the inscription.

"Second prize Binghampton Waltz Contest?"

Rayne trembled with anger. He said in a tremulous voice, "I should've gotten first prize. Politics …"

He flung out his hands and a powerful jet of energy threw the women back. They tumbled into shelves, smashing wood and shattering glass. Talismans, beads, candles, books and other supplies scattered across the floor. Anya got immediately to her feet and glared defiantly at Rayne.

"Didn't hurt."

Tara sighed from her landing place, under a broken lowboy.

Rayne waved a disgusted hand at her. "I would fry you now, ex-vengeance demon, but I want you to find Giles and tell him. Tell him his old friend Ethan Rayne is the one who destroyed him and his friends. Tell him I will visit soon to take his very life!"

He proceeded regally to the door. A small blue cape feathered down his back.

"I will," Anya called, "if I can get him away from that robot."

Rayne stopped.

...

Warren tiptoed into the bedroom, making no noise in his Traxx tennis shoes. Andrew lay supine on the floor, his voice providing the onomatopoeia for Obi Wan's and Luke Skywalker's lightsabers.

"You're finished, old man, I'm going with Daddy."

He sibilated a lightsaber parry.

"No Luke. Don't give in to the Darkside."

More lightsaber thrusts and blocks.

"I am the Darkside, you senile old fart!"

"Aw! Luke, don't cut that off, I beseech you."

Warren stepped onto Andrew's back. "Don't disrespect the trilogy, goatboy."

Andrew huffed as his breath was pressed out of him. He wheezed a faint protest. Warren did a small shuffle before stepping off. "Ow." Andrew rolled to a sitting position, wincing and rubbing. "You shouldn't do that. I could wind up paralyzed."

"Yeah. Then you couldn't lead a productive life. Look butthole, I want my 'bot back."

"Why? You weren't using him."

"After this long, you could've back engineered him and made your own. Well, not you, but some moron could."

"Okay, I'll see what I can do."

Warren dropped to the floor. "Not good enough. I need him now. For protection. It's getting crazy out there. Demons on every corner, smackin' the normals around. With Garnerbot, I can keep the number of atomic wedgies in the single digits."

Warren picked up the Obi Wan and Luke figures, determined to make things right between them.

"That wasn't me, Luke. Just a very lifelike droid, invented by a genius."

"Yeah. Well I'll-"

"You'll lose that attitude!"

Warren susurrated a slashing lightsaber blow, followed by a horrific cry.

"Ahh! My hand, you cut it off."

"Don't," Andrew whined, reaching for his action figures.

Warren held them away. "That's right Luke. Won't be the last time that happens to you. Now straighten up and fly right, boy."

"I will, Ben. I want to go with you to Alderaan and become a Jedi Knight like my father."

"Givit," Andrew demanded, climbing Warren's back.

"Then let's get to Alderaan," Warren said hurriedly, and threw the figures across the room.

"Hex," he said, "no matter what else they do, this really happened."

"Noooo," Andrew griped, falling back. "You're always messing with my stuff."

"Star Wars isn't yours, stupid. It's immutable. Like Garnerbot, and me, wanting him back. Like now."

"Okay, I'll get'm back."

Warren waited.

Andrew sat up again. "Something else?"

"Like now."

"What-right now?"

Warren picked up Andrew's pair of K-Mart track shoes and tossed them to him.

"I don't want those. Give me that pair, under there, the cool ones." he pointed.

Warren retrieved the shoes from under the bed. They were Zits.


	12. Vegas Interlude

The Eiffel Tower Restaurant on the Las Vegas strip afforded a glittering panorama at night, a slurry of lights that could be seen all the way out in space. Seated by a window, Buddy and Spike enjoyed the excellent view of each other that their propinquity afforded. They held hands across their small and intimate table, touching one another's wedding bands. A split of Champagne frosted in a bucket at Buddy's elbow.

"How can we afford this?" Buddy asked, casting a quick glance at the three waitery dudes standing by, just looking at them. At his glance one of them stepped forward.

"Something you would like?"

"Yes," Spike said quickly, "how about some nice, plump strawberries with this fine Champagne?"

"Right away, madam. Sir." The attendant bowed away

The waiter approached, setting two plates of cheese puffs before them.

"Hors d'oeuvres," he expressed mildly. "May I get anything else right now?"

"No, we're good," Buddy replied.

He bit into a puff. "Uck, this tastes like liver flavored vomit!" Buddy turned away from the solicitous gawkers and removed the vile tidbit. He slipped it unobtrusively under the plate.

Spike laughed softly. "It's an acquired taste, Luv." She popped an entire puff in and masticated it. Her expression segued from amusement to bemusement in seconds. "Gawdawful," she agreed, choking it down. "I'll let you know when I acquire a taste for it, it's like a mud pancake."

She emptied her Champagne glass, and an attendant quickly filled it for her.

The strawberries came, and they laughingly cleared their palates of the taint of liver puff.

After they finished swapping tastes of their desserts, the bill came and Buddy read it.

"Four hundred-eighty-eight bucks," he whispered in alarm. "Spike, do we have to fight our way out of here?"

Spike leaned in with a serious look on her face. "I figured you'd want to enjoy the meal first but yes, you take the three standbys, I'll beat up the waiter and that bloke in the suit at the elevator."

Buddy looked around at them, and they all looked back. He smiled, and they smiled.

Spike was smiling, too.

"Aw, you're kidding."

"Yes, I am." Spike pulled out a credit card and set it on the tray.

On the street outside, they walked with their hands tucked in each other's back pockets. A continuous stream of people milled around them, going in and out of casinos and shops, restaurants and bars, nightclubs and souvenir stores.

Another couple walked by them, the girl's head nestled on the man's shoulder.

Spike tried to put her head on Buddy. "You're a bleedin' tall drink o' water, mate."

Buddy brought his hand onto Spike's shoulder and pulled her close. Her head fit into the crook of Buddy's arm, and lay on his chest.

"Good thing you got a big bazoombah," Spike sighed.

Buddy reached over and flicked her nose. "It's a pectoral muscle, you thug. You have the bazoombahs. By the way, where'd you get that credit card you paid for dinner with?"

"Ah, need we speak of money?"

"Yes, and unless your name is Marti Noxon, I suspect I'm harboring a fugitive."

"Let's cross here," Spike suggested, "go see the water dance at the Ballagio."

As they crossed, Buddy asked again.

"I nicked it," Spike explained, "when I saw this bird arguing with a cop one night, over a ticket for parking in a handicapped zone. She was tryin' every argument under the sun, even told the bull she forgot her underwear that day. While she was posin' for 'im, I glommed onto her wallet, just lifted it right from her purse."

"That's wrong."

"No, that's exactly what happened."

A collective _whoo_! lifted from the people packed around the Bellagio's fountains, and a huge wall of water rose in the gleam of multicolored lights. Music pumped from invisible loudspeakers, and Buddy and Spike turned to watch with the rest. A man sidled up too close to Spike, and Buddy shoved him. The guy's face took on belligerence, but at Buddy's warning glare he faded away.

For twenty minutes they were enchanted by the display.

"After something like that, there's only one place to go," Spike declared.

Back at the hotel they splashed into the heated pool, and Buddy lay back in the water as Spike held him, and they traversed the pool, the only ones present.

Buddy said, "Let's skinny-dip."

"What, starkers with all the eyes on us?"

"What eyes?" Buddy stood up and saw no one around.

"Spike nodded, and Buddy looked in the direction she indicated.

"There are cameras everywhere, Luv. Been like that since the 'seventies."

"How would you know?"

"Vegas was once me old stampin' grounds. I saw Elvis here, first time out."

"I've seen that. He wore black leather."

Spike shook her head, and water sprinkled off her hair. "Nineteen fifty-six, April."

"You saw him perform?"

Spike chuckled. "Yeah. Just not at singin'."

"Tell me what happened."

"Not much," Spike waved it off. "I just was in a card game with 'im, and he lost his shirt. Got mad at the mobster runnin' the game and offered to kick his arse. I saved Elvis from bein' killed.

"Now let's get to our room."

Upstairs Buddy sat and demanded satisfaction.

"Again?"

"I'm not going to sleep until I get it."

Spike tugged the drapes once more to make sure they wouldn't allow a shard of sunlight in the morning. She put out the Do Not Disturb sign and bolted the door.

"Now then, for your listening pleasure, I'll tell you that Elvis was a terrible card player. He kept winning for the first six hours." She flopped onto the bed and rolled over to the pillows.

"I think that means he plays well, Spike. You see, the object of poker is to win money, not lose it."

Spike pulled a pillow out and hugged it. "At this game, the object was to win and stay alive. I recognized the game had loaded decks, and decided to play my usual way."

"Which was?"

"To just stay in the game until I lost everything, then take the lot and eat the players."

"You're a regular Cincinnati Kid."

"You laugh, but I took my share of pots. This game was with a bloke name of Nino 'The Scar' Scarpino, he'd been planning this high stakes game for weeks. I'd been winning straight out, so I was invited. The buy-in was fifty grand, a lot for back then.

"Elvis was upset because he was singin', and getting' ignored, also got booed a little. It was an adult crowd, not the teeny boppers who loved him then, though by the late 'sixties those same teens would be there in Sin City, cheerin' him on.

"Anyways, he was so brassed off, he had a few stiff ones at the bar, then demanded to be let into this high stakes game he'd been hearin' about. None of the staff wanted to let on they knew what he was talking about, but he got louder with each drink, and Nino's son heard him refer to 'the greaseball who owns this joint', so he says let 'im in.

"When I say he won for six hours, I don't mean every hand. He folded, he bet low, and those hands he usually lost. It was the big ones, the gutsy hands he won. I had a Full House, kings over, an' he bet the farm. So I folded, and that geezer laid down a Royal Flush, and I knew the cheat was on."

Buddy shook his head. "How did that tell you?"

"One of my kings was a heart, and his flush was hearts. The godfather wanted to load him up, then bleed him dry, so he was pitching him winners."

Buddy nodded.

"Right, if I'd stayed in, it would've been awkward. Someone slipped up, and they would have accused me of cheating.

"But the hands went on, and Elvis kept winnin' the big ones, and drinking too much. Then came the long-awaited big bad hand. I knew it because I got a pair of deuces, so they didn't want me in. It came down to Elvis and Nino, and Elvis kept raising the ante, so I knew he had another great hand. Nino kept raising him, and finally Elvis was tapped. He signed to a loan, and called Nino's final raise. It was a three hundred thousand-dollar pot."

Buddy was leaning forward, very interested. "What happened?"

Spike tossed him the pillow. "I'll tell you tomorrow." She shifted hastily and began snoring.

Buddy tossed the pillow back. "You'll be a pile of dust by tomorrow if you don't tell me the rest." He leapt on the bed next to her.

Spike's eyes shot open. "Just wanted to make sure I wasn't boring you. Elvis slapped down his hand and got up, started swivelin' his hips and singing 'Money Honey', really rubbing it in. Nino the Scar just takes a drag on his cigar, calm as a corpse, and blows the smoke at Elvis. He lays down a Royal Flush in spades, and Elvis' was in diamonds.

"Elvis pointed at Nino, said, I'll never forget this, he said: 'Fat man, you done gone an' riled me up, cheating thataway.'"

Buddy chortled, grabbed Spike's arm and shook it. "You do a great Elvis, that sounds just like him."

Spike laughed. "It's a gift."

"So what did fat Tony do?"

"It was Nino the Scar, not fat Tony."

"Sorry. The Simpsons."

"Yeah, I get it. Fat Tony's funny. Joe Mantegna does a great—"

"Spike!"

"Okay, so Elvis said this, and looked like he wanted a fight. Nino said, 'Sit down, little canary, if you ever want to sing again.' Elvis pushed his winnings at Fat Ton—er, Nino-see, you have me doing it now—he pushed the chips at Nino and said, 'Cash me out fat man, or I'll get the fuzz on you for a crooked game.'"

Buddy psshed airily. "I can't believe he lived."

"I figured his minutes were counting down. I just sat there impressed that, even lubricated with bourbon, this kid had so much moxie. Nino didn't miss a trick, he just shrugged and told his man to cash the kid out. He said the game's over. The other players and I took whatever we had left, and I didn't have much, and we started out."

"But you were going to rob the game."

"I wanted to see what would happen. I figured the world would lose one more Rock 'N' Roll singer, but I wasn't sure I wanted to see it go down that way.

"I pretended to leave, but because they didn't have surveillance cameras then, it was easy to speed back behind some gaudy stuff they had for decoration. I saw Elvis come out, lookin' like the cat that ate the canary, and Nino came out with him, his hand on his shoulder like they were mates. 'Congratulations Elvis,' he said, real loud, and there were plenty of players who looked over and saw this. He wasn't playing there, but across the street at The New Frontier."

"He was making an alibi."

"Of course,' Spike agreed. She hopped from bed and picked up her coat. "I need a cigarette."

Buddy looked glum.

"What?"

"Can't you stop that nasty habit?"

"My lungs can't be harmed."

"Yeah, what about mine?"

"You're not smoking."

"Second-hand smoke."

Spike snorted. "That's a myth," she said.

"Oh, like vampires, uh?"

She dropped the pack. "You win there."

Picking up a brush, Spike sat on the bed and brushed her hair out.

"I followed Elvis," she continued, "outside to the parking lot. Even though he was rooming across the street, he still drove this pink Cadillac, what a burk, poofin' around in that thing.

"He got to the Caddy and of course there's four guys there, leaning on other cars and smoking, just passing the time, all innocence. Elvis walked to the Caddy and opened the door. It was a convertible, not even locked up. He began to hop in when the blokes rushed him. He turned and socked the first with a good little pitch, a right hand that put him on his back. But then the other three got 'im, and they worked him over good.

"I ducked down between cars an'—"

"Damn, Spike. You have to save Elvis. You let him get beat up, what're you doing?"

Spike gripped Buddy by his shoulders. "Elvis survived, you have to believe that."

Buddy laughed. "I know, but this is like - like it's happening now."

"It seems like just yesterday. The three crime-niks hustled him away, and the fourth one got in his car and drove it out of there. I followed Elvis.

"They put him in the back of a black sedan, ominous and hackneyed as that is. I had a motorcycle, and I started her and kept me lights off, and shadowed them on the side of the road. They drove north, and back in those days, one minute in any direction got you out of town.

"They drove for half an hour, so I knew they didn't want to be interrupted, or have this kid found. They turned on a dirt road and drove another twenty minutes, and I ate dust the whole way. Lucky for Elvis, it was still early in the wees.

"They pulled him out, bloody and bedraggled already, and one sod gets a hammer from the trunk. While the other bastards are holding Elvis, he makes out to smash him in the face."

Buddy let out a primal yell.

"Yep, I finally stepped in."

Buddy hooted.

"I grabbed the hammer right out from his hand, said 'Hello boys, I'll lay ten to one on me.'

"They stare for just a second, shocked I figured, then one of them pulled out a gun and blasted me in the chest.

"Don't look like that, you know that was nothing at all. I snatched the gun away then didn't I, and I said, 'Okay, you're down to eight to five.'"

"That's really awful."

"I've worked on my wisecracks. We can't all be Spiderman.

"The other two went for their guns. Elvis grabbed one of them and pummeled the geezer's face with both fists. He had a lot of spunk left after the beating he took. I snatched the gun out of that guy's hand, and I pointed both at them. I said—"

"Their odds were down even more," Buddy guessed.

"Yeah right, I said 'even odds, boys'. Then I shot out their knees."

"Ow."

"Right. I didn't want my snacks to get away. Elvis nearly killed his bloke, and I pulled 'im off. He dropped down and passed out then, and I'm standin' there with four men down, my cycle and the sedan.

"So I fed on the gunsels."

"Gunsels?"

"Old word, out of use. Pistoleros, torpedoes, ramrods, bullet-heads, whatever you want to call them, they were rank with garlic. I even thought about cleansing my palate on Elvis."

"No!"

"It was a passing thought. Imagine if you ate all those liver puffs and no strawberries or Champagne around."

Buddy considered. Hmm," he muttered, "I guess Elvis would've left that building."

Spike nodded and dropped the brush on the night table. "But I restrained myself, mainly 'cause the lad had guts. I used a shovel the mob boys brought, and buried them Then I loaded my motorcycle into the trunk, what would fit of it, and drove Elvis back.

"I brought him to my hotel room, laid 'im out and gave him a little brandy, and …"

"What?"

"Well, let me skip."

"It's Drusilla, isn't it?"

"Well Luv, she was there."

Buddy waved his hand. "I'm not jealous."

"Good. 'Cause you're my one and only. I'm Missus Buddy Morrison."

She twisted her ring on her finger.

Buddy grabbed her and pulled her down onto him. "So you saved Elvis' life."

"I saved his career, too."

Buddy wrinkled his forehead.

"Well, I saved his engagement. He had two more shows the next day."

"So?"

"He was in no shape. While Dru tended him, I blackened my hair and went on for him."

"You've gotta be lying."

"No," Spike answered smugly. "Our voices were similar—well, when I wanted them to be, so I went on. I did the two shows, and sent the boy on his way. He gave me his Cadillac.

"One more interesting thing, though. Nino sent some guys to get me, as 'Elvis' after the last show. I left them laying there, didn't much feel like more snacks. I visited Nino, and he would've been quite a meal. Couldn't bring myself to bite that blubbery neck, so I just broke his knees and warned him. Didn't get as much money as I hoped, either. Just thirty grand or so. I got lots more in other heists."

"How many other heists?"

Spike yawned. "My darling, I will be glad to regale you with every adventure of my long and fabled life. But these are tales for another time."

"Time for sleep, huh?

"You sleep if you want to," Spike answered, and turned off the light.

"What was your favorite Elvis song that you sang?"

"Mmm, no question," she whispered.

"Love Me."


	13. Some Like It Not

Alex Fimple drove through Grapevine pass entering Los Angeles, feeling his ears pop from the elevation change. He idly watched the scenery, feeling a childlike thrill at the sight of Magic Mountain. After he passed the city of Saugus he toggled between watching the road and consulting his map.

He merged onto the 134 and got off the freeway in Glendale, then drove with an eye on the map until he reached a dilapidated residence with a hand scrawled sign: Teresa Vergera, Curandera, el ojo del cielo.

"The eye of the sky," he murmured and shut off the engine.

The noise from a TV blasted as he walked up and knocked. The sound was turned off and an ancient man opened the door.

"I'm, uh, Willow," he said sheepishly. The old man led him to Teresa's bedroom, then he shuffled away.

"Willow," Teresa breathed startledly, "you really do look mannish." She threw her arms around Alex and squeezed. "Oh, I can feel it's you, though."

"This is me." Alex squeezed her back and stepped away. Teresa was a heavy woman in her thirties, wearing a sleek red kimono with dragon markings.

"I'm afraid I have no memory of you at all."

She gave a comprehending shrug. "You do, and you don't. It's the spell, don't worry about it. At least you had the initiative to call. Let's see what we can do."

She led Alex down the hall to her reading room, a small dark enclave curtained in black, dominated by a round center table and five chairs.

"How's business?"

"I get by," Teresa replied. "Doing charlatan readings mostly, but now and then …"

"The real thing," Alex finished.

"Yes. When one of serious mind comes, someone who can contribute. Like you."

Alex nodded.

"You want something to drink, some tea, or some food before we start?"

Alex shook his head. "I'm okay, thanks." He took a chair and his eyes settled on a crystal ball, the only item on the table.

Teresa picked it up and put it contemptuously aside. "For the fools. Now." From a drawer she brought out a jar filled with yellow tinged liquid. She set it on the table and, peering into it, Alex saw two photos inside, pressed together.

Teresa twisted open the jar and dipped her fingers, then wet her forehead and Alex's. She sat down and took his hands in hers.

"We will sit and clear our minds," she said, and closed her eyes. Alex followed suit. Concentration was vital.

As they sat quietly, the TV noise came to their ears. Lucy argued with Ricky in Spanish, resorting to her unmistakable wailing. As time passed the noise faded and time caught up with them, sitting quietly in that small room.

…

Warren and Andrew stood outside Giles' apartment, nervously shuffling around. Warren pounded angrily with the side of his fist.

"They're not here," Andrew said again.

Warren kicked the door, then he looked around for signs of danger. "Just keep an eye out for any freaks, man." He stabbed the doorbell several times. "This thing work?"

"Yes, I can hear the bell." Andrew stood facing the street, craning his head for trouble. A siren wailed as a cop car passed, the wail rapidly receding.

"Must be two-for-one at Donut King," Andrew remarked.

Warren pressed his ear to the door. "Damn English creep. You'd think I'd hear something. Stupid robot."

"They're probably gone."

Warren slapped the back of Andrew's head. "You're just talking out the side of your neck, Bobo."

Andrew pointed at the parking lot. "You see any sign of his car?"

"What does he drive?"

"Some weird British car."

The two walked toward the lot. They watched a young couple drive up and park, then run in fright for their apartment.

"It's dangerous out here."

"It's that way everywhere,' Warren snorted. "That's why I need my 'bot."

Andrew inhaled deeply. "Can't we just make another one?"

Warren gave him a look. "No. _We _can't. I can, but you're useless. I guess I'll have to make another, and you're not getting within hearing distance of it."

Andrew hung his head. Something entered his vision and he turned to see Rayne rushing at them. He presented a vision in purple oddness, calling supervillains to Andrew's mind, paralyzing him with fear. Rayne's face was full of fury. Feets don't fail me now, Andrew thought, but his feets failed him.

Warren turned at the last second and emitted a squeaky scream. Rayne snatched the two youths by their scruffs and shook them.

"You gave me a robot," Rayne growled. "A robot!"

"It worked!" Andrew shouted back.

"Dude- I'm not in this," Warren piped up.

Rayne tossed him aside, and Warren rolled into a well manicured bush.

"_You _will come with me, you idiot."

Andrew tried to get his feet under him as Rayne pulled him along. He cast his eyes downward and closed them, telling himself they were _not _floating along, many feet above the ground.

…

Hermione sat across from Jim, sipped her tea and smiled. "You must get that a lot," she said. "That's two people now, who thought you look like the actor James Garner. How coincidental that you resemble him and share his name."

Jim drank some coffee. "How about that giddy elderly lady, she was something."

Hermione laughed delicately behind her napkin. "Yes, I do favor Julie Andrews somewhat, as a young lady, that is."

"There you go. We're a match made in Heaven."

Tara appeared at Hermione's elbow.

"Giles," she said urgently, "Ethan Rayne is behind this curse. He came to The Magic Box and he's got—"

Hermione looked at her questioningly. "Who _are _you, young lady?"

Tara put a hand to her forehead. She sighed, "I've been searching all day for you."

"Well, we thought we'd come here, have a nice meal outside the trouble zone." Jim stood and pulled a chair from an empty table and drew it close to Tara. "Please, join us. You look like you could use something to eat."

Tara sank down gratefully. She tapped one of the empty glasses thoughtfully.

Jim beckoned a waiter. "Some wine?" Tara nodded happily. "Bring us some Riesling, please," Jim ordered. "Do you have Jekel?"

"Er, yessir, Jekel Johannisburg, late vintage."

"That'll be fine. We'll take a bottle, and a menu for the lady."

"Nothing to eat for me, thanks," Tara protested.

"Are you absolutely sure?" Jim gave her a winning smile.

"I'll take a menu," Tara said mechanically.

"You look very familiar," Hermione said.

"Giles - uh, Hermine-?"

"Hermione. Hermione Down."  
>"Yes, Hermione. You … ah, this is awkward." she lowered her voice. "You're a man, not a woman. You're really a man named Giles, Rupert Giles, and Jim here is actually a robot made to seduce you."<p>

The wine was served and Tara chugged it while listening to their protracted laughter.

"I'm so sorry," Hermione managed, shamefaced. Jim chuckled some more and she dilated her eyes at him. Jim controlled himself. He picked up the bottle of Riesling and poured.

"I think this is an excellent vintage."

Tara let him fill her glass, and drank while shifting her gaze between them. Jim pushed his hand across the table and Hermione took it, and they exchanged knowing smiles.

"I'm wasting my time here, aren't I?"

"Not at all," Hermione replied. "You should try the cacciatore, it's ever so delicious."

…

Kendra waited trembling in the dressing room. She surveyed her appearance in one of the full length mirrors. Her outfit consisted of a gold teddy, black thong panties and fishnet stockings with garters, and three-inch pumps. _The Feline_ was a second rate strip club on Rainbow Boulevard in Vegas. The whoops and catcalls streamed loudly from the cheapie audience. Kendra was debuting and her nerves were tightly wound.

"Relax, sweetie," an older stripper said. Kendra looked at her blankly, sitting at an unkind mirror with a cigarette and an open bottle of J&B. Her makeup was as thick as the smoke she blew in Kendra's face.

"M-my first time," Kendra stammered.

"Hell, with _your_ ass –" the woman reached over and squeezed it, and Kendra jumped at the touch "—you have nothing to worry about."

She blew smoke at Kendra again and grinned with teeth that were stained darkly around the edges.

Kendra whispered, "Thanks," then Marsha Brady aka The Pole Python trundled through the door naked, her hands full of clothes and dollar bills. She saw Kendra and smiled, "Showtime, babe," and gave her bottom a slap. She made her way to a chair next to the older stripper and fell into it. She snatched the cigarette away and took a drag.

"Howdja do?" older stripper asked.

"Well, Ruby," Marsha Brady replied, sifting through her take, "I think these stiffs are saving to buy their mamas CSI sweatshirts." She looked up at Kendra. "What're ya waitin' for, Michael Buffer? Get out there already, it's your turn."

Kendra gulped stale air and opened the door. A wave of cigarette smoke enveloped her, along with a roar of expectation. She walked stiffly to the pole and grabbed it. She swung around it the way she had seen the others do yesterday. She twisted and rolled her body upside down. That move drew some approving noises from the men watching, and she twirled to her feet and dropped into the splits.

Rolling upward again, Kendra steeled herself for the moment of truth, the first reveal.

As she undulated sinuously, she untied the drawstrings of her teddy and tugged it off. And they loved it. Hands beckoned, and she grinded her way to them, where they pushed and curled and jammed dollars into her garters, and into the strand of her thong.

Her confidence swelled, and she spun and bucked and did all the moves she had seen, heard of, or thought up on her own. She did it with style and rhythm. She was erotic, she was naughty, she wrote checks with her hips then bounced them with her breasts, finally cashing them when she removed the thong to the thrill of the vocal crowd. They returned her generosity with their money. Among the singles Kendra spotted a couple of fives, a ten and … a rarity from _The Feline's_ working class clientele - a twenty!

She got so into it, the next girl had to come out and pull her off, also helping her scoop up cash.

Back in the dressing room the older stripper's face showed grudging respect. "You're a natural, honey, an absolute natural," she told her, blowing more smoke in her face.


	14. Pocket Money

Sitting before a circle of clustered candles, Andrew dripped sweat as he summoned the minor spirit Fala, a demon liaison.

"Horcoups' pusculeria," he intoned, and Rayne, sitting next to him, prodded him with an elbow. "Allowee surekin obsopfulus," he said more hastily. Reading from handwritten notes, he was not entirely sure about pronunciation. Rayne prodded him again.

"What?"

"Hurry up."

As Andrew finished the incantation a steamy smoke accreted above the candles. A spectral face glimmered in the center, and Andrew figured that meant this Fala chick was present.

"I, uh, have a message for –"

Rayne elbowed him hard.

"Uh, I mean a question. For a demon. For Surgat. That's the … demon's name."

The smoke disseminated as if a breeze whirled through it. The face lost all definition, but slowly collected again.

"Whyyyy," it asked in a faraway voice.

"What the bloody hell does that matter?" Rayne demanded.

"She wants to know why."

"I can hear, imbecile. Why does she ask?"

The faraway voice spoke again. "I can come back later, if you two want to fight."

Rayne blinked. "What kind of demon have you summoned?"

"No demon, it's a spirit for liaison and communication."

"Bloody incompetent."

Andrew continued. "My question for Surgat is, is the curse on the Slayer and her friends complete?"

The face dappled again to amorphousness, then returned.

"Surgat wants to know why you ask."

Rayne muttered, "Shite."

"Well, because," Andrew replied. "We're curious."

The voice hardened, and seemed closer now. "He won't accept that. Tell me the reason."

"You're supposed to do what you're told," Rayne barked.

"Is that so? Where is my tribute?"

"Where's her tribute, Andrew? You better have it." Rayne cracked his knuckles.

Andrew ran his hands over the circle of flame. "Uh, candles!"

"Candles," Fala repeated. "Always candles."

"What does she want, tickets to The Who? Boy, can't you summon anything that does what it's supposed to?"

"Fala has to know. For some reason."

"Surgat wants to know," Fala corrected. Her voice came loud and clear now, as if she were sitting next to them. The smoky face was clearly defined, and Fala was not too bad looking.

"All right," Rayne rasped. "It's because I don't feel as if I have all the power I'm supposed to have. I'm supposed to have the Slayer's speed and strength." He ticked the list off on his fingers. "The Witch's knowledge and power; the Watcher's wisdom – what there is of it – the immortality and instincts of the vampire and lastly, the same loyalty from my minions that sycophantic boy has for Buffy.

"I think I would feel it if I had all that power. So far I'm levitating and can move objects." He slammed his fist on the floor. "What is this inquisition for, are you afraid of Surgat or something? Ask him!"

Fala's laughter echoed. "His fear is known, and it is strong. I will repeat his explanation to Surgat, word for word."

Andrew clenched his fists to keep his hands from shaking. But his fists shook too.

"Do hurry on, then," Rayne told Fala.

"You're not supposed to talk to her," Andrew whispered. "Just me."

Rayne waved a hand in disgust.

The smoke whirled, swirled and curled, and after a minute it grew thick again.

"Surgat has spoken," Fala finally reported. "Your spell will be complete when he is summoned for a final time."

Rayne's hands began to tremble.

"Can you be the one to summon him?" he asked Andrew.

"Fala, can I be –"

"I heard him," Fala interrupted. I'm smoke, not deaf."

"Sorry."

Surgat requests and requires his lord and master Rayne to summon him. He must complete his connection to the power of the Slayer and the others. He assures no harm will come to him."

Andrew's lip curled at this. Classic example of a demon double-cross, he thought.

Rayne's hands became steady, and triumph returned to his face. "Excellent.

I have no further questions." He stood up and began pacing, kicking away some of the colored sand and powder of the spiritual circle. Andrew began to protest, but instead hastily recited the words of dismissal for Fala. The spirit's ghostly visage seemed relieved, before it dissipated to nothingness.

"You're a mischievous fellow, Andrew." Rayne pointed a finger at his face, then resumed pacing. "I should smite you, but since this turned out well, I will not."

Andrew peered up at him. "Thank you, sir."

"But I must ask. Why a robot?"

Andrew pulled one of the excuses from the list he brainstormed in case Rayne asked. "I couldn't find anyone handsome enough to do it. All my friends are really, really ugly."

Rayne nodded. "If they looked like that one boy you were with, I concur. But you're a fool. With a spell it doesn't matter if someone is hideously ugly. Even you could have done it."

He laughed. Andrew rolled his eyes but chuckled along with him.

…

Buddy was in deep sleep when Spike slipped out. She wore her new coat, a long black number like the one before, but with unfortunate girly frills. Faux pearl studs lined the front seams, and the corners of the lapels were fringed with lace. She hated these foofy adornments. She would buy a better coat, when she had the money.

Thus this late night foray sans Buddy.

She felt the night as she roamed, letting vampire instinct lead her. She walked north, past the Golden Nugget, past the Gold & Silver pawn shop, to where the strip's neon fruit salad gave way to bleak buildings ringed with high, barbed wire fences.

She turned west. She passed a cardboard structure that housed a schizophrenic wino, berating invisible enemies in the dark. She passed a prostitute plying her trade quickly and expertly in a parked car. She passed a cluster of glowering youths who eyed her hungrily. She vamped her face then turned away, exuding danger, discouraging their inclinations. They left her alone.

She was drawn to a gloomy building surrounded by razor wire. The unlit sign in front read "Tanner Brothers."

"What are you tanning tonight?" she wondered. There was no evidence of what purpose the business served. Spike flexed her knees a couple of times and eyed the fence, about twelve feet high with razor wire rings at the top.

"Shouldn't be too hard," she muttered, and sprang from a crouch. She leapt high and over, but felt the tail of her coat shred as she dropped to the other side.

"Bollocks," she hissed ruefully, looking at the damage. Oh well, it was only a temporary, after all. Working out more often was a must. That fence should have been an easy leap.

She ran quickly and silently around the building. A dog smell filled her nose and she halted.

A gray and yellow pit bull with a barrel chest padded out of its shelter. He sniffed the air and whined, just before Spike landed on him. She muffled the startled yipe, fanged the pit bull's throat quickly and fed, stopping just short of killing him.

"You rest up, boy," she whispered. He would be weak and sick for a couple of days, but he'd live. She patted his ribs and left him. A dozen cars were parked back there, mostly late models and all expensive. Spike ran her hand along the side of a restored '77 Pontiac Firebird and formed a silent whistle with her lips.

I want, she thought.

She heard a subdued clattering from inside. Light framed an otherwise black window. Something important was going on in there. She dug for her lock picks. She jimmied a heavy door and slipped in quickly.

Inside were tall rows of crates and boxes. In the center of these, ten men worked around a very long table, unloading containers. They upended boxes and innocent looking items spilled out. One man emptied fake flowers from a pot and withdrew its clay base. He broke open the base and withdrew a bag of white powder. He handed the bag to a short, pudgy man who tore open the bag and spread the powder. Several bags of flour sat next to him on the table.

Cutting heroin, eh, Spike thought. Or cocaine.

She smiled. This was her bank. Now, to make a withdrawal.

She looked for an office. A door down at the far end was a good bet. She moved to it swiftly and gently tried the knob. It was unlocked. She stood up and strode inside as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Two men lounged at a desk covered by beer bottles and papers, with a revolver acting as a paperweight. Their feet were up and they didn't look at her. The one behind the desk had an aging face ringed by a thick, black beard. The closer one was young, with slicked-back hair and a receding hairline.

"Hello, fellows," Spike waved, approaching them swiftly.

"Who the hell are you?" the young man asked. Spike threw a hook kick to his temple. He slid off the chair and crumpled to the floor.

"What the f—" the bearded guy cried, going for the pistol. Spike leaped forward and grabbed his wrist. She hauled him bodily over the desk, spilling beer and papers. A quick whack behind his ear made him slump, and she dragged him back around the desk and sat him on the chair.

"Wakey wakey," she said, slapping his cheeks. A beer bottle dripped liquid and she picked it up, pouring the rest onto blackbeard's forehead. He sputtered and wiped his eyes and nose.

Spike clutched his hair. "If you scream or make any other noise, I'll break your bloody neck."

"What choo wan'," he slurred.

"Money." Spike let his hair go. "Where's the safe, Mister Tambourine Man?"

"What money?" He rubbed his eyes. "I dunno what you're talking about."

"Oh." Spike rammed a fist into his gut. Blackbeard hugged himself and writhed on the chair.

"Give me the money, that's a good bloke. Drug people always have money. Gimme gimme."

The guy on the floor was still motionless. There was a large wall calendar with a nude woman posing above the month of August. Spike pulled it off the wall.

"No wall safe under the nudie. Hmm."

She caught his jaw in a vice-like grip. "Where is it? I'll take your yarbles off and show 'em to ya if you lie to me."

Blackbeard shook his head frantically. "I'll … sh-show you," he blurted. Spike patted his head.

"Good boy. No tricks, or I'll teach you to roll over and play dead."

He nodded. "Yeah. Okay, lady," he heaved off the chair and turned his back to her.

"I dunno who you are, but I'll get the money."

He bent double, sliding a hand down his calf.

Spike kicked him in the groin.

Blackbeard hit the floor convulsing. Spike grabbed his foot and grappled with the Velcro on his ankle holster. She ripped his pistol away.

"What's this, about a thirty-two caliber Smith & Wesson, eh?" Blackbeard didn't answer. "I like this. I think I'll christen her for her maiden voyage."

She put the .32 to his head and cocked the hammer.

He clenched his eyes shut and held up his hands. "No don't - please, don't. There's a floor safe. I'll get it. I'll getcha the money."

Spike stepped back. "Hurry or I'll blow away your manlies." She looked again at the guy on the floor, then glanced at the door. No sign of alarm, but this was taking too long.

Blackbeard tugged at the carpet under his desk. A large square of it came up to reveal the safe. He leaned over the dial and spun it back and forth, then reached for the lever.

"Stop." Spike shoved him away. "Let Mama handle the rest."

Blackbeard scuttled back. Spike reached for the lever and hesitated, shifting her eyes to Blackbeard.

He turned his face away and held his breath.

Spike stood up. "Booby trap, eh?"

"Huh, what … a trap? You gotta be kiddin'."

"Come 'ere and open it, then."

"Lady, please. You're makin' a mistake."

She pointed the .32 at him. Blackbeard scowled, which, with his beetling brows, made him look like Blackbeard the pirate. He reached under the edge of the carpet next to the safe and turned something. There was an audible click.

"What was that?"

"Gas bomb. Just to disable any thieves, not lethal."

"I applaud your creativity. Now open."

He opened the safe and Spike pushed him back with her boot. Inside were bundles of greenbacks, with a pistol and some kind of grenade on top. There was a loop of wire around the grenade's pin that disappeared into the side of the safe.

"Mmm, that's new." Spike carefully took the loop off the pin. She put the grenade in her jacket pocket, then pocketed the pistol. From her other pocket she withdrew a plastic garbage bag she'd nicked from the hotel.

"Fill it."

Blackbeard did, glaring poison at Spike.

"A minor setback for a sweetheart like you," she told him.

He dropped the bag. "That's all there is."

Spike cold-cocked him with the .32.

"You need your rest, bubie."

She stood and jammed the bag into her pocket. There was a metallic sound and she swung around.

The guy on the floor shot Spike in the eye.

Blue electricity danced on a field of black in her brain. Lightning crackled; waves of crimson thundered past and streamers of glaring fluorescence glowed in her vision. Her mind shuddered, her consciousness blinkered out. She didn't feel her body hit the floor, or her head smack the leg of the chair, sending it rolling. All was shock.

Then pain erupted.

Her hands pressed against her face. She rolled over, tasting blood. A voice was yelling.

She fed her hand into her pocket and fumbled forever to get the pistol out. The shock of another bullet took her again. Another, in the back. Doom was before her, its jaws yawning to engulf her.

She twisted around and saw a shape through the blinding redness. She shot at him, shot again and again. The shape fell away. Spike's gun clicked on empty chambers. .

She found the grenade and wrenched it free. Climbing exhaustedly to her feet, she wiped at her remaining eye and waddled to the door. It flew open just before she reached it, and a startled face came into view. Spike flung an elbow at it and felt bone meet bone. The owner of the face fell away.

She got out of the office and got shot again. The whole bloody lot of them were standing there shooting. Bullets spanged against the wall next to her. She felt hot lead rip into her breast, her belly, her thigh. She plucked the pin off the grenade and tossed it at them, then waited an eternity for it to do something. Had she removed the pin? She thought she had. She felt another bullet.

A loud pop, then screams of agony cried out as gas enveloped them all. Spike slitted her eye and peered at them, watching them drop and roll around retching. The pudgy little man was there, vomiting explosively. She lurched to him and locked an arm around his neck, pulled him along with her.

She plowed down the row to the rear door and pushed through it to the crisp night air. The pudgy man gargled protest and struggled, so she stopped long enough to break his neck. She dragged him to the parked cars, moved among them and ducked. She immediately buried her teeth in pudgy's throat, sucking his blood with desperation.

The darkness that threatened to enfold her retreated, and her vision cleared. She felt the galvanizing effect of the fresh blood, but warned herself to quit now, no time for a long feed. She pulled away reluctantly. She heard voices. They had recovered from the gas.

The fence was too high. She barely made it before, now the razor wire would entangle her. She looked closely at the car which hid her.

It was the Firebird.

An old car, that was lucky. She could hotwire it.

She crab walked to the door. Unlocked, great. She jerked out the wires under the dash and got the engine running. They heard, and came swiftly for her.

She got shot again as she clambered behind the wheel. The bullet tore through her clavicle, breaking it. She stomped on the clutch and popped the gear. The car bolted forward, slamming into the shooter, throwing him twenty feet. She screeched around to the front of the building and spied the front gate.

A bullet broke through the rear window and burrowed into Spike's back.

Time went slo-mo like a scene in the movies. The doors of the gate flew open and the car hit the street, yo-yoing from the dip. Spike churned the wheel and got the car pointed south, tromped on the gas and geared up until she was speeding a hundred mph down the street.

She was away. She was safe.

A red glob from her eye drooled down her cheek. She almost passed out, and screamed just to wake herself up. She set her mind on Buddy. Buddy would expect her. She had to be there for him. Buddy would call for her, cupping his hands to his mouth and calling her name, like Auntie Em in Wizard of Oz.

Got to get back to Kansas. Off to see the Wizard.

Mr. Wizard, may I have a heart and brain and courage, please?

Oh silly woman, don't you know you already possess these things.

I know, you stupid sod. But they're shot all to doll rags, aren't they? Wanker.

Horns blared. Spike woke up and hit the brake. Pedestrians swirled around the car. They reacted when she passed out and the car wheeled forward. Some stared in at her, horrified by the sight.

She clawed the glove compartment open. There was a pair of sunglasses and she put them on. Just like the Terminator.

The light turned green and she peeled out.

Somehow, she made it. Wended her way up the hotel's parking garage. Pulled herself out of the car and staggered to the elevator kiosk. An eternal wait for floor … seven. Lucky number. She lurched down the hall and hit the door with her shoulder. Her key card was somewhere, in a pocket …

Buddy was there, carrying her to the bed. Crying. Tears, dripping down. Spike tried to tell him that men don't cry, and she did. Only it was a dream. And he was a man, and Buddy was a woman.

A woman named Buffy.


	15. Succor Me!

Joyce Summers poured her third cup of coffee black and took a deep swallow. She needed some life to flow into tired body. After her rude awakening at four ayem with Buffy clattering around in her room and coming out to mumble excuses, she had sat at the kitchen table and waited.

Call me Buddy, Buffy had said to her. That rankled. This charade was wearing thin.

She swallowed another gulp, accepting the burn that trailed all the way to her stomach.

"Mom."

Dawn's voice in the silence made her jump. "Yes, honey."

"Buffy is back, isn't she? I heard her moving around, but her door's locked and she won't answer."

"She's … got some problems. Let her have her space for a while."

The clock read seven-twenty-four. "You should get ready for school."

Dawn looked away.

"Oh, right. Summer vacation. I'm a little out of it this morning."

"That's all right," Dawn said. "Are you going to work?"

"No. The gallery's closed all week."

"Well, Melissa and me are going to give each other makeovers. Her mom got a bunch of free samples from Mary Kay."

Joyce smiled wanly. Is she coming here?"

Dawn blurted, "It's right next door."

"Okay, just asking. Be careful anyway, uh? Look around before you step out."

After Dawn left Joyce loaded another coffee with milk and sweetener and sat down. Resting her chin on her palm turned out to be a very restful maneuver, and she slept.

When she awoke the clock read eight-ten, her coffee was cold and her hand was asleep. She shook it and watched Buffy pour coffee into two cups, which emptied the pot.

"Buffy, we have to talk."

Buddy brought the cup to the table.

"Mom, call me Buddy. And I don't have time, I have to tend to Spike."

"Sit down, honey. Please."

Buddy sat. He scratched at two days' growth of beard, jiggling his leg impatiently. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. Stress had leached much of the handsomeness from his face.

"You're my … child," Joyce said quietly. "I love you, but –"

"Look, Mom -"

"Listen." Joyce hit the table and a few drops spattered from Buddy's cups. He wiped them up with a napkin.

"Okay, Mom. Please get to the point."

"I don't know what's happened to you. I know, I know, a curse. But honey, you disappeared for more than a week. There are horrible things going on in town, things you're supposed to stop as the Slayer.

"Now you come back from Las Vegas with a wedding ring on, and I'm hoping …" her voice cracked and her eyes brightened, and she blinked away the wetness. "I'm hoping," she went on, "that things will return to normal around here.

"You didn't marry Spike, did you?"

Buddy leaned back and worked his wrists in circles. He exhaled and stretched.

"It's been a long night, Mom, I've been trying. Trying to … be normal. I can't remember why I agreed to go to Vegas. It seemed the thing to do. It's like I lost part of me for a while. No, it's still lost."

He slumped over the table and put his chin on his palm. "Spike and I may have … gone to the Little White Chapel in Vegas, 'cause it's a landmark."

Joyce shut her eyes.

"We may have had a ceremony there."

"You don't know?"

Buddy threw up his hands. "We might have had a few drinks."

Joyce sipped some cold coffee. "I swear," she groaned, "I had such high hopes. None of them was seeing you wind up marrying a transsexual, punk-rock vampire."

Buddy kicked back his chair.

"I have a right!" Joyce's voice turned shrill. "You two are in my house. Having Spike here is costing me, and no one ever thinks of my problems, my responsibilities."

Buddy said flatly, "But you like Spike."

"I don't know anything about him, except he's turning my daughter into some kind of pervert. Oh –"

Her face took on a horrified expression. "I don't know why I said that."

"Because you meant it." Buddy stood and pulled a wad of bills from his pocket. He dropped them on the table. "We'll leave tonight. This will pay for the coffee, and other costs we've run up here."

He picked up the cups and walked out.

Joyce called after him. He didn't answer. She caught up to Buddy as he got to the second floor. "Listen to me, mister!" she threw a hand to her mouth. "You hear that? I called you mister. Like I've accepted you're a man."  
>Buddy kept walking. "I am one, so you might as well accept it."<p>

Joyce followed him. "No, no, no, you're not going to talk to me with that tone. I'm not some bigoted person casting judgment."

Buddy paused at his door. "No, you're just hassling me for something I have no control over. You act like it's my fault. What would you have done, anyway, if one day I brought a girl over and told you I was a lesbian?"

He went into his room.

"Isn't that what you _did_?"

Joyce gasped as she sighted Spike, lying on Buddy's bed. Blood-encrusted bandages covered her body. Another was wrapped clumsily around her head, and her one eye stared lifelessly at the ceiling.

"My God, Buffy. What happened?" she stepped quickly to the bed. "This is Spike?"

"Yes, Mom. Who else?"

"He needs more than coffee." She touched Spike's chest, frowning with maternal resolution. "Go boil water in two pots. Boil scissors and my circular needle from the sewing kit. Bring the other pot up. I'll get clean bandages."

She started out of the room. As Buddy lingered, she snapped, "Now."

Buddy set the coffee on her dresser and bounded downstairs. Mom's attitude changed as though a switch had been thrown, and it felt good to have her on the case.

Joyce returned with a white first aid bag and sat on the bed. She spread out gauze and tape, and a bottle of peroxide. "We're going to take care of you, Spike. Don't worry about a thing, okay? You're going to be fine."

Spike's eye focused on Joyce, recognition expressed through iris and corona. "I'm sorry," she wheezed, her voice a whisper.

Joyce took her hand, hiding shock at its coldness. "No Spike, _I'm _sorry. Buffy –" she blinked, then her lips tightened and she continued, "Buddy and I are going to get you through this. I'm glad you're here, and I'm happy to help."

She squeezed Spike's hand, and Spike's delicate fingers gave her a faint squeeze in return.

…

When Alex Fimple left Teresa's he felt better. He sang with the radio as he drove south, and stopped for directions at a 7-11. The turbaned clerk sullenly pointed him in the right direction.

When he walked into Angel's office Cordelia greeted him.

"Hello sir, welcome to Angel Investigations." She came out from behind her desk and took Alex' hand with both of hers. "Whatever problem you're having, be assured that Angel Investigations can solve it, for a very reasonable fee.

"You know," she went on, "you look very familiar." She snapped her fingers. "You're the actor – Colin Farrell! You're in _Minority Report _with Tom Cruise, oh, you were so good in that. Should've had Tom's part. This is a coincidence, because I'm an actress too, I'm sure you've seen me. Or not, you're probably too busy.

"I have this agency," she continued, "they're not too good, not fulfilling my full potential, so I'm looking to change. Maybe you can recommend an agency."

Alex opened his mouth.

"Maybe _your _agency would be good. I can try them, but I kind of want to do it fast, and sometimes they have trouble noticing true talent. You can just tell them, right? I'm sure an important actor like you can tell them to just add me to their talent pool. If I like them, I'll stay. I'm very loyal to a good agency.

"Hey, what are you working on now? I'm not really working here myself, I just stepped in for my sister. She's sick. And-and I'm doing research - for a part. The part of a secretary – it's like _Working Girl_. I even run around topless like she did."

She puffed out her chest. "See, I have very real, very firm and natural –"

"Cordy, Cordy Cordy," Alex broke in. "I'm Willow. Yeah, Willow, from Sunnydale? A demon spell turned me into a man."

"Well, let's get you to Angel," Cordelia continued without missing a beat. "You two'll have a lot of catching up to do, I'm sure."

She walked Alex to Angel's door and opened it. Angel was at his desk.

"It's Willow," Cordy told him. "She got a sex change or something."

She left and closed the door. Alex said, "Actually Angel –"

"I know what really happened. I saw Buffy." He waved Alex to a chair. "Didn't Buffy mention that I came by?"

Alex sat. He shook his head. "No, we haven't been communicating very much. Buffy's not even in Sunnydale any more."

"Where'd she go?"

"Vegas."

Angel was silent.

"The truth is, we've all been doing weird things. Unpredictable. It's this spell, it makes you kind of lose yourself. No, not kind of. Really lose yourself. I almost forgot who I was myself. I just saw a friend who helped get my memories back. But the spell may be working it's magic as we speak. Soon I may think I was born and raised as Alex Fimple."

"Fimple?"

"Giles chose the name."

"Oh." Angel leaned forward. "You want some coffee … Willow?"

"No. I'm here because I need to get Buffy, Xander, Giles and Spike together so I can help them regain themselves, like me."

"Who else is missing, other than Buffy?"

"All of them."

Angel got up and turned his back on Alex. He leaned against the wall with his head down. Alex looked around the office, noting the spare appointments. A couch, a couple of chairs and a coat rack. No frills business.

"Giles was working on this. What happened to him?"

"He's lost. Ran off with some … glamour guy."

Angel turned and gave him a sour look.

"I thought maybe they came through L.A. I know you've got this place wired, so …"

Angel shrugged. "Any chance of reversing the spell altogether?"

"Maybe. You've heard of Ethan Rayne?"

Angel nodded. 'He had that Halloween costume store, when everyone changed into what they were wearing."

"Um-hm. He's at it again. He's going around Sunnydale, behaving like some demon god. I think he was the one who laid this curse. I – I think he did it to get us out of Sunnydale, or steal power or something. Now we have to get him to renounce the spell. I can't handle this on my own."

Angel took his black jacket off the coat rack. "I'll help you."

Alex glanced at the blinded windows. "It's daylight."

"We can black-out my car. You drive here?"

Alex nodded.

Angel pulled a roll of duct tape from a drawer and jerked his head toward the door. "I'll follow you in my car."


	16. Muddled Memories Mended

Kendra shouldered through the backstage door clutching a double handful of cash, applause and whistles spilling in from outside.

"Hello, Kendra!" the girls mockingly serenaded.

She tiptoed to her section of table and sat down naked. The dollars cascaded over her makeup jars and she scuttled them into a pile for counting. Bonnie and Rachel watched her as they primped for their turn.

"Hey beyotch," Bonnie called, "why don't you cover that up?"

Kendra kept counting and responded cheerily, "One-eighty, one-ninety, two-ten, two-sixty …"

The stage door opened and an oily dude in a sleek suit came in. The girls regarded him expectantly but he went directly to Kendra, eyeing her up and down. He pulled a card from his breast pocket and laid it on the table next to her money.

"Miss Kendra, let me introduce myself. I'm Vince Basiglio, and I very much liked your show."

She dropped her counted money into a pile away from the crumplies. "Three-forty- five," she muttered, marking her place. Basiglio held out his hand and she pressed it absently, peering at the card. He was from Club Tangerine, it said. Kendra knew that was a hoity-toity strip club for high rollers. Very exclusive, a very expensive place, a dream club for gals like her.

She noted the direction of his gaze.

"Still enjoying the show, hmm?"

She snatched her robe off its peg and draped it across her middle. Vince smiled and gave a chin shrug. "I can't help but look, that's why this two-bit place is getting the higher-ends lately. That's what I came to see you about."

Kendra tucked herself into her robe. "About time," she told Vince. "I'm up to here with this place. And these bitchy girls."

Vince gave them a glance. "Well, they're most likely jealous. You're … what can I say? Very special, and they're ordinary."

The backstage door slammed open. The head bouncer, a three hundred pound former nose tackle who went by the nickname Cubby, hurried forward. His expression was psyched for action.

"That's Cubby," Kendra said, "and you're not allowed back here."

"But I bribed that blonde bouncer."

"You paid the wrong guy."

Cubby rushed forward. Vince went up on his toes. He feinted a right hand but kicked Cubby in the kneecap. Cubby took a step back and Vince stabbed his nose with a left jab, then swept a forward kick to his groin. He followed that with a straight right that broke Cubby's nose, then kicked the kneecap again.

An agonized squeal whistled from somewhere in Cubby's face and he dropped sideways to the floor.

"Hey asshole," Bonnie shrieked. "He was just doing his job."

Vince pulled a money clip from his pants pocket and peeled off a few hundreds. "And you're doing a bang-up job at that," he told Cubby and dropped the bills on his head. "Anyway, Kendra. If you want a job at the Tangerine, you'll easily pull in five times what you're making here. You have my card."

Kendra caught his elbow. "Forget that, I'm in! Wait for me."

Cubby was breathing in ragged gasps and clutching his groin. Vince dropped another hundred in front of him. "Tubby, tell your boss that Kendra's giving her notice, got it?"

Kendra was dressing quickly. "Yeah," she threw over her shoulder. "Ten seconds notice."

…

Anya gave her customer a bright smile and handed over his bag of candles and powdered elk horn. Several more patrons of the Magic Box waited in line to exchange money for magical crap, and Anya was giddy at the influx of green. Then the bell jangled and Alex Fimple came in the front door, followed by Hermione Down and Garnerbot. They trooped together to the round table. Anya's mood plummeted. They would be bad for business, as usual.

The next customer was an obese, balding man wearing sunglasses. Anya eyed him suspiciously. He put aphrodisiacal powders and body oils on the counter.

"Are you going to use these _with_ someone?" Anya demanded. "Because otherwise, that's just perverted."

Hermione watched in disbelief. "It's a wonder she keeps any clientele at all."

"Actually," Alex said, "it's a going fad around town to come here. People like to share their abuse experiences. It even got a write-up in the paper."

Angel came through the back. "How did you get in?" Alex asked.

"Back door. There's an alarm, but I disabled it. So where's Buffy?"

"I guess she's running late. She said she'd be here."

Hermione started to get up. "Well then, Jim and I could go and -"

"Sit down," Angel commanded.

"Don't bark at Hermione like that, pal," Garnerbot gritted.

"Hey man," Angel shot back, "what are you even here for?"

Garnerbot's eyebrows rose toward his scalp. "Because I'm thirty pounds heavier and a whole lot meaner than you, man. And what the hell is your name anyway?"

"Angel," Alex told him. "And you can never be meaner than him."

"Angel?" Garnerbot raised his voice. "Angel? I can't stand that name. Angel Martin was a slimy little fink. I did time at Quentin with him, and he brought me nothing but trouble."

"Shut up," Alex broke in. "Be quiet and sit down, we have serious business here."

Garnerbot pursed his lips in anger. Hermione caught his eye and gave a small head shake, and he sat down next to her.

Angel said, "We have to get Buffy here. Someone can take my car."

"I'll do it," Garnerbot said.

"No."

"Look, you don't need me here. I like driving, and I can even handle your car's lousy damn suspension. It takes corners like a battlehip."

"That car is a '67 Plymouth Belvedere GTX," Angel protested. "Only about two thousand were made."

Garner smiled wryly. "At least they recognized their mistake early. Hand 'em over."

Alex gave Angel a pleading look. Angel morosely tossed over the keys.

Outside Garnerbot scanned the street for trouble. A pint-sized demon chased a nerdy teenager down the street. The nerd's bookbag bobbed up and down on his back as he fled, whining for help. Garnerbot chuckled.

A Pontiac Firebird spun around the corner. It sped jerkily toward the Magic Box, weaving as the driver wagged the wheel. It lurched to a stop three feet from the curb. Buddy got out, holding a long screwdriver. She slammed the door.

Garnerbot cringed. "Don't slam the door like that, mister. You'll rattle the window off its anchors. And who taught you to drive, Stevie Wonder? And what's the deal with the front end, it looks like you drove into a mountain."

"It's not your car, so whatcha care?" Buddy headed for the Magic Box.

"Wait a minute," Garnerbot followed after him. "Are you Buffy from Revello Drive? 'Cause I was just coming to get you."

"No, I'm Buddy from Revello Drive. Go pick me up."

"Cute. What's with the screwdriver?"

"It's the key to that heap."

Garnerbot peered longingly at the Pontiac. "Buddy, sell me the Firebird, huh? It should belong to someone who appreciates it. I drove it for a long time, and that car is great. Can do almost anything. I'll give you a good price."

Angel was putting a CLOSED sign on the door as they walked in. Anya served a nervous couple buying a spell kit.

"So," the man whispered, "this is all we need for a protection spell?"

Anya whispered back, "Yes. Just make sure you pronounce the incantation correctly. The instructions break it down phonetically."

The woman asked, "Why, what if we get it wrong?"

"Mmm, maybe his testicles will shrink, or you'll lactate green milk. Maybe it just won't work. That'll be one-oh-three ninety. Will that be cash or charge?"

Buddy sat down and dropped the screwdriver on the table.

"Think about it, will you?" Garnerbot pleaded.

"Yeah yeah," Buddy waved him off.

"I hear you've been in Vegas with Spike," Angel said right away.

"Who the hell are you?"

"You don't know me?"

"It's the spell," Alex said. "She's losing memory of past associations."

"Psychobabble," Garnerbot scoffed.

"I'm not a 'she'," Buddy snorted.

Angel's eyes were drawn to the last customer, a large man in a muumuu. His fake head mask was open in the back, and red-tinted demon flesh showed. He paid and left without causing any trouble, and Angel made Anya lock the door.

"I should get compensation for this," she groused.

Alex asked Buddy if he knew where Kendra was. "I understand she went to Vegas the same time you did. I heard she works at a strip club."

Buddy shook his head. "I don't know any Kendra. Besides, my wife would never let me go to a strip club. She figures her body should be enough for me to ogle."

Garnerbot touched Hermione's hand. "I certainly feel that way."

Hermione blushed and covered her embarrassed smile.

Angel sighed. "Get to what we're doing here, Willow."

Alex related his suspicion that Ethan Rayne was behind the curse. Then he explained what the curse was. Then he argued with Buddy and Hermione that they were, indeed, cursed.

"I know this woman," Garnerbot said, rising to massage Hermione's shoulders. "To put it discretely, I assure you that every last inch of her is all woman."

Alex rolled his eyes. "What would you say to put it indiscretely?"

"You're making this up," Buddy pshawed. "You must be crazy. You say we've been friends for a long time?"

Alex pulled out his wallet and showed Buddy a photo of Buffy.

"See, this is you. The spell keeps progressing, so y-you're forgetting. B-but this is the real you."

Buddy looked. Garnerbot looked too, and whistled. Hermione punched his arm.

"What about your mother," Alex said. "Is she okay with everything, or has she been telling you things you think she made up? Surely she's still calling you Buffy."

The skin around Buddy's eyes tightened. "She calls me Buddy. And I think I would've remembered if … I mean, she does hate Spike. She thinks she's a slut, not worthy to be my wife."

Angel's ears pricked up. "She's right."

"Well that can't be the only thing, Buddy. Think, why would a woman be named Spike anyway? Didn't Joyce mention anything about this that you remember?"

Buddy's brows furrowed in anger. "She said I was no better than a lesbian, can you believe it?"

Alex spread his hands. "See?"

Buddy got quiet.

Hermione raised a hand questioningly. "Why are you trying to, er, convince us of this fantastical idea, um, Alex?"

"I want you to go through a ceremony with me to push back the spell, regain your memories. It's painless."

"It won't work." Anya was closing out the register, but she paused to criticize. "They'll get their memories back for a little while, but then the spell will come back stronger than before."

"What's your solution, then?" Alex retorted.

"Just get used to your current incarnations. I had to do it, and I'm a successful business woman. Life goes on." She pulled the tray from the register and commenced counting the day's take.

"Alrighty," Alex said brightly, turning back to the group. "How about it? The process will take maybe an hour, maybe a little longer."

Hermione looked concerned. "What would you require of us?"

"We wouldn't have to drink our own pee, would we?" Buddy asked.

"No. You would – what? Where'd you even get that?" He waved it off. "It's a concentration process. With my help, you'll just focus your minds for a little while. Simple."

"I don't have time," Buddy said. "I have a wife who's hurt and she needs me there."

"And my fiancé and I have some things we need to do." Hermione glanced at Garnerbot, and he gave her a wink.

"I'm not taking no for an answer. You do this one thing, and I'll agree to leave you both alone from now on, okay?"

Buddy made a strangled noise. "Fine."

Hermione hesitated. "Well, it might be nice to sharpen my memory," she said and took Garnerbot's hand. "As we'll be making wonderful memories so very soon."

"Good." Alex got up. "Let's go sit in the back room."

Seventy-one minutes later the ceremony was over.

"Sonofabitch!"

Hermione raged through the door. "You! Jim – whoever you are, get the hell out of here."

Garnerbot looked startled. "But darling –"

Hermione gagged. "D-don't call me that, ever. I'm a man, you giant ass, and you've been …" she looked helplessly around. "You've been … courting me as if I were a woman."

Buddy barreled through the door and stomped over to Angel.

"You've been letting me sleep with Spike?"

Angel shrugged.

Buddy slapped him.

"Well, isn't this a load of bull?" Garnerbot snarled. "Hermione goes back there with that con artist, and now she thinks she's a man? After all those hours of making love –"

Hermione walked stiffly away from him, her face set in stone.

"How could you possibly believe this?" Garnerbot persisted.

Buddy slapped Angel again.

Angel shrugged again.

Buddy threw up her hands and yelled incoherently. She dropped onto a chair and propped her chin morosely in her hands. "I guess I should thank you, Willow."

"Yes," Hermione added dubiously. "Thanks ever so much."

"I did what I had to do."

Angel spun a chair around and sat with his arms resting on the back. "We should reprogram Spike. Is he at your house, Buffy?"

"Yeah," Buddy said musingly. "We'll have to take Willow to him. He was shot up, you know. Some drug dealers in Vegas shot his eye out. It's horrible."

Angel smiled lopsidedly. Buddy glared and he dropped it. "Why, that's just terrible. Don't worry, he'll grow the eye back - in time."

"Yeah. Well, at least he got the money."

"Money, you say?" Hermione put on her eyeglasses. "That's what he was doing with the drug dealers then, robbing them?"

Buddy nodded. "Sixty-odd thousand. It wasn't worth it, though."

Anya was suddenly there, leaning in close. "That's a lot of money. You need to launder it, or the feds'll be on you like ugly on a rabbit. I know just how to do it. For fifty percent I'd be happy to –"

Angel said, "Not now, Anya."

She smiled ingratiatingly and backed away. "The offer stands. Negotiable, too."

Hermione said, "We're straying from the real point here. Willow, I truly thank you for bringing our memories back. But they'll fade again, so we had better solve this matter quickly."

Alex nodded. "We have to find Rayne. Only he can reverse the spell."

Buddy said, "Shouldn't we just follow the signs of trouble in town?"

Angel shook his head. "Rayne made a big splash, but then disappeared. We have various demons and vamps running around town, but Rayne's in hiding, or else he left."

"I haven't seen him for a while," Anya offered.

They looked at her.

"What, can't I talk?"

"We'd prefer your silence, actually," Hermione said.

Angel tipped his chair back. "We have to find this Rayne, then. Any ideas where?"

Buddy and Hermione looked at Alex.

"Locator spell?"

They nodded.

"I'm on it." Alex went to the shelves for the necessary ingredients.

"Another thing, Buffy," Angel said. "Are you sure the ... drug guys didn't follow you back to Sunnydale?"

"Hmm?" Buddy thought about it. "No. No, they couldn't have. We drove at night, so I would've seen their lights."

"Did they see your car at any time?"

"Oh, it's their car. Spike took it during the heist."

"What?"

"Spike stole it from them. He had to get away, and he was shot up. C'mon, he robbed and killed them. Grand theft auto is not a biggie on his rap sheet."

"We have to get rid of it." Angel put out his hand. "Give me the keys. If they have Lojack or some other tracer, they'll come in force."

Buddy looked around the table. "Hey, who took the screwdriver? I use it to start the car."

The robot did," Anya said.

"Who?"

"That robot you call Jim. He picked up the screwdriver and slipped out the back. I kept my eye on him, because shoplifters cost the retail world a hundred million dollars a year, and you can't be too careful."

Hermione's face was twisted with confusion. "Why do you say he's a robot?"

"Silly question," Anya giggled. "I say it because it's true."

"I knew there was something about him," Angel said.

"He's a good-looking robot," Anya continued. "I can see why Giles, or Hermione - whatever - is gay for him, but he's fake as a two-dollar bill."

Hermione shook her head. "I can't believe it."

"Anya," Alex said, "two-dollar bills aren't fake."

Anya snatched up the trash can.

Angel sped to the window. "What kind of car?"

"A gold one," Buddy replied. "Two-door, I parked it right in front."

Angel dropped the blinds. "Why the hell didn't you say something, Anya?"

"Girl-Giles there said she wanted my silence."

Hermione glared at her. "Really Anya, how could you tell he's a robot if he fooled us?"

Anya looked smug. "One of the things a former demon keeps is the ability to distinguish between humanity and … everything else."

"At least he'll draw any pursuers away," Angel pointed out.

Buddy sighed. "He wanted that car. Offered to buy it from me."

Angel laughed, and all eyes turned on him. "He insulted my car," he said defensively. "My GTX. Now his dream car just might be his robo-coffin. I just think that's funny."

"That's so insensitive," Anya said, waggling a finger. "Can't you see that Giles loves his gaybot?"

Hermione's face blanched.

"It's classic," Angel remarked.

Buddy scowled at him.

"My GTX, I mean. It is a classic."


	17. Goodbye, City Lights

In an uncharted underworld of lava and smoke, muted screams and rampant torture, Ethan Rayne huddled in a fetal position, trembling and praying to every god he'd ever heard of to make Surgat leave him alone for please, just one more hour.

Surgat's ragged snoring sibilated from the next chamber, and Ethan rejoiced by assiduously sucking his thumb. His mindset reverted to that of infancy, a primal yearning for the warmth and protection of his mum. He clenched his eyes shut and tried to see Mum, tried to picture her with her loving arms folded around him, and pretend he was with her and had never even heard of demons.

Instead, the replay of his ill-fated summons to Surgat scrolled through his memory unbidden, and he bit the base of his thumb in a paroxysm of self-rebuke.

The first moment Surgat had responded to Rayne's incantation seemed to verify Fala's message. The demon had knelt and congratulated Rayne on his victory. "I am your servant, my master," he grumbled grudgingly. "I offer obedience. I can use the Watcher's love for the robot to seal the curse, if you wish it. I am powerless to disobey."

If only he had listened carefully, he might have perceived the trick. But in his prematurely triumphant mood, his extraordinary arrogance blinded him. Surgat wasn't just offering to _complete_ a curse, to transfer the Sunnydale gang's power to Rayne. He was offering to accommodate a variable – the robot that sonofabitch Andrew had used. Whether or not the robot caused a wrinkle in the spell was irrelevant. Surgat offered a second distinctive service, and Rayne had blithely accepted. It was the oldest trick in Surgat's book, and a fatal mistake.

A fatal mistake? Rayne should be so lucky.

"Marvelous," Rayne had cackled, rubbing his hands together. "First though, I want you to hurt yourself. Go with the genitals, since they're the most vulnerable. Hurt yourself good and horribly, slave, or I'll make it very bad for you indeed."

With eyes glaring white-hot at Rayne, Surgat whacked and smote his unmentionables. Stifled grunts betrayed his stoically fierce expression, and he mauled himself until finally Rayne had enough.

"Stop, stop it. Why are you doing that to yourself, Surgat?"

Surgat's claws dropped to his sides, dripping ichor. His eyes rolled in confusion. "Because you ordered it, Master."

"If I told you to jump off a bridge, would you do that?"

Surgat replied flatly, "Yes, Master."  
>Rayne had smirked, disappointed. The words played out funnier in his head. "You see," he explained to Surgat, "in America when a youth does something stupid from peer pressure, his parent asks him that and …oh, never mind. Go ahead and complete it."<p>

"Complete what, my master?"

"The thing with Giles and the robot, you dunce! Make the love spell work. I want my power to be complete. Why the devil are you smiling like that?"

Surgat's visage had changed rapidly, and despite the gouts of blood dripping from between his legs, his mouth widened into a hideous grin. Surgat laughed, and his lugubrious, red-tinged eyes changed at once to clouds of charcoal black, and fetid breath blew into Rayne's face.

Rayne didn't like this at all. He took an involuntary step back, almost leaving the pentagram's protective circle. He uttered the dismissal incantation but Surgat remained. Then, watching Rayne's face intently, Surgat took a step.

As the demon's cloven hoof shifted from the misty dust of the netherworld to drop with a thud on the solid concrete of the floor, Rayne's hairs stood erect in places he didn't even know he had hairs. Then another step plopped Surgat's other foot - massive and humanoid - on the edge of Rayne's circle.

Rayne's mind raced. What could have gone wrong? He started chanting the dismissal incantation again, "Non vidi, legola e ni recturnum …"

Surgat laughed again, and his spittle sloshed against Rayne's face. The demon stepped slowly and deliberately into the circle. Rayne scuttled backwards and pealed out a high pitched shriek that cracked a wine glass on a table yards away. He rushed to the door and got a hand on the knob before Surgat snatched him, his claws digging into Rayne's flesh and searing him like molten fire.

"Surgat," Rayne had squealed, "you're bound by the Principles."

Surgat licked him, a captive ice cream cone. The contact burned like a corrosive. "Yes I am," Surgat allowed. "And so are you. You asked for a second service, and so have released me, and imprisoned yourself, smart boy."

"But the spirit of the deal!"

Surgat shrugged as much as his neckless torso would allow. "Sue me. We have enough lawyers where you're going."

"You told Fala I wouldn't be harmed."

"She knows what I liar I am." With that Surgat bounded into the midst of the misty dust and brought Rayne below. Rayne's first words in this hellish sphere were an apology for forcing Surgat to savage his own genitalia.

"Don't worry," Surgat had rumbled in reply. "You are personally going to make me feel better."

The spool of recent history ran out with Rayne asleep, his thumb dropping limply from his mouth. For a moment he knew the peace of dreamless slumber.

Surgat clambered to his feet and yawned. He stalked into Rayne's chamber and snatched him up. "Hello lover," he growled.

Rayne hoarsely protested, but his rasping cries were soon muffled gags that no human who could care less could hear.

…

The city lay glistening with lights as numerous as the stars, and Kendra saw them from the luxurious round bed in the executive suite of the Diamond Grand hotel. She rolled lazily from one side of the bed to the other, enjoying the soft caresses of the satin sheets.

Presently she got up and did some isometric exercises. Had to keep the equipment in good order, or no one would want to slip a c-note into her thong. She worked her legs, her buns and triceps, and finished her workout on her back, holding her legs aloft with toes pointed to get an abdominal burn. She heard a knock, then a tune jangled softly as the visitor rang the doorbell. Kendra rolled to her feet and wrapped a yellow robe around her nude glory.

It was Tara.

"Hi Kendra, do you remember me?" Tara asked shyly.

"Remember? It's only been a couple of weeks." Kendra hugged her and waved her in.

"Wow, nice place."

"I just adore a penthouse view," Kendra smiled.

"And security's tight. I've felt less violated by gynecologists."

"Those asswipes." Kendra went behind the wet bar. "How 'bout you forget your troubles with a nice mixed drink? We have Appletini, Margarita, Daiquiri, Bloody Mary. I can't actually make those, but we have the fixings."

Tara shook her head. "No thanks. I just really need you to come back to Sunnydale with me."

Kendra kept her eyes on the booze. She poured some vodka and 7up into a highball glass and added ice. "Sunnydale, eh? I don't know about that, honey. I mean, our little lipstick encounter was primo stuff, but –"

"It's not that."

"But I have a guy now, a real nice guy. I know - why don't you move out here? He's pretty much a pig, so he won't mind you staying with us. Surf and turf action, could be pretty exciting. "

"No, Xander, _we_ need you." Tara watched Kendra's face for recognition.

There was none. "What was that? Why'd you call me … Sander?"

"Sorry, I misspoke, Kendra. We need you in Sunnydale. Us, your friends, remember us?"

Kendra took her drink to the sunken living room, motioning Tara to follow. She curled up on the sofa and pulled a throw pillow over her stomach.

"I can't leave, Tara. I have a job here. I'm doing two shows a night."

"Yeah, I saw one. You're really great at it. You sure got a lot of money stuffed into your panties."

Kendra sipped cocktail through her gleaming white teeth. "High rollers. They're very generous."

"I bet you could get some time off without getting fired or anything."

Kendra's smile faded. _Cornering me with compliments, huh?_ She rattled the ice in her glass and hopped up. "You know, I just started this gig. How will it look to take time off right away? Besides, my boyfriend's a high mucky-muck here, and I don't want to make him look bad."

Tara sighed. "Do you remember Sunnydale at all?"

"Who wants to? Small town, small prospects." She put her glass on the bar. "Sure you don't want anything before you go?"

"What about the Hellmouth, Kendra. Does that ring a bell? Sunnydale is in trouble, Buffy's in big trouble. Giles and Willow are too, and they need your help big time."

"Kendra eyed the vodka bottle. "I don't see what I can do. Want me to strip their way out of trouble?"

"This isn't you, Kendra, it's the spell you're under. You're forgetting all your friends."

Kendra waved her arms around her. "My friends are here."

"What, those liquor bottles?"

Kendra's face registered shame for an instant, and Tara knew.

"You've been hitting the alcohol pretty hard, haven't you?"

Kendra's lips closed tightly over her retort. She tapped her fingernails on the burnished mahogany of the bar. "So, this has been a great visit. You have a plane to catch, or what?"

"I'm taking the bus." Tara went to the door. As she let herself out she said, "I left you something on the coffee table."

Kendra locked the door after her and walked to the table. A photo of Willow was there, and she picked it up. She lay on her bed for a while staring at it, then dropped it and took a shower. Afterward she lingered over her stripping ensembles, a medley of satins and silks, lace and leather, stiletto heels and ankle-strap wedgies.

She donned a pair of black jeans, a white blouse and running shoes. She stuck Willow's photo in her purse and sat on the bed to write a note to Vince. She wrote _Dear Vince _and then heard voices as the front door opened.

For some reason her reflex was to drop to her stomach beside the bed. She heard Vince say, "Let me check," then heard footfalls in the room. The bathroom door opened then the footsteps receded.

"Nah, she's not here," Vince said. "She has a show, and the bitch is never late."

A rougher voice said, "A slut with a work ethic."

Kendra's fists curled.

Vince said, "Yeah, except in the sack. You'd think with her body she'd be great, but she's like a tricycle in the Indy 500."

They laughed, then their voices faded. Scowling with resentment, Kendra crawled to the end of the bed and got up, tiptoed to the door and listened. She chanced a peek and saw two men besides Vince in the sunken living room, one fat and one thin. They both wore expensive suits, just like Vince.

"So Vince," the fatso said, "we have a fix on that car. It's been in a California town called Sunnydale for over twenty-four hours."

"It might've been dumped."

"Yeah, but someone's drivin' it around."

"Got an address, or we gotta canvas the whole city?"

"It sat at a Revello Drive address for a day, then started moving around this morning."

Vince's voice grew clearer as he walked to the bar for a drink. "Well, Junior wants me on point, because he's really pissed. He wants the chick who pulled the heist, plus anyone helping her. Y'know, I can't see how one skirt could ice those four guys and get away clean like that.

"Get Franco and his boys, we'll caravan it. And have Harry call the governor, get us some cover."

"Sure Vince," the tall one replied. "An F.B.I. cover will work. The Sunnydale cops are bought cheap."

"Fine, bloodbath time. Make those calls now, Tony. Confirm with me later. Gianni and I are going to relax a bit before we go."

"Thought your girl was busy."

"I got another skank stashed at the Mirage."

"Can't get enough of them strippers, huh?"

Vince laughed. "Give 'em a taste of the sweet life for a while and they'll do anything for ya."

Kendra's long-nailed fingers clutched an invisible throat as she listened to them leave. She hopped up and finished her note: _Dear Vince, Eat Shit! _Her eyes green fire, she stomped to the bar and grabbed two bottles of tomato juice and opened them. She poured them all over Vince's precious wardrobe, dousing the suits and shirts in the closet, sprinkling the ties, and dumping the rest on his underwear and socks in the bureau. She packed her suitcase quickly, leaving all but two of her stripper outfits. She returned to the bar and found orange juice, and splashed it all over Vince's expensive shoes.

She lugged her case down the elevator and through the lobby without interference, got a taxi outside and told the driver to take her to the bus depot. Tara couldn't have left yet, so she would intercept her and treat her to a first class seat on a flight to Sunnydale, and they'd return in style to that Podunk town.

She looked back at the Diamond Grand and gave a little wave. Goodbye, city lights. _Green acres we are there, duh-duh, duh-dunt-dunt…dunt-dunt!_


	18. Honeymoon's Over

An aggregation of white noise brought Spike reluctantly out from her comfortable slumber. She lay picking out the separate sounds: Joyce vacuuming downstairs; birds chirping outside Buddy's bedroom window; car doors slamming.

She sat up and palmed the pistol under her pillow, then stifled a groan as she rolled off the bed and hobbled across the floor. She gingerly shrugged into a robe and went out. At the stairs she held the gun at the ready. The door opened and Joyce turned off the vac. She greeted Buddy and his good-looking mate Alex. Spike pointed the gun at the floor.

"Hi, Missus Summers," Angel greeted, coming through the kitchen.

"Hello, Angel."

Spike raised the pistol again.

Joyce saw her. "Spike, what are you doing up?"

Spike smiled weakly and brandished the revolver. "Protecting the homestead," she rasped.

Buddy headed up the stairs with his face down. Alex followed.

"Some protection," Angel remarked.

"My tactics are like your face with bulimics, you sod. Ugly but effective."

"Ugly is right," Angel retorted, then his eyes shifted as he thought about that.

Spike moved to embrace Buddy as he gained the last stair. "I'm feelin' better, sweethea –"

Buddy pushed past her.

"Well hello to you, too," Spike finished. Alex put a hand on her elbow.

"Can I talk to you, Spike?"

"I dunno," Spike said, "my husband just –"

"Get in the room, Spike," Buddy barked. "Now."  
>Spike touched the bandage around her eye self-consciously. "He should call before he brings his mates," she commented to Alex. "Pardon my appearance."<p>

They joined Buddy, who quickly shut the door.

Spike said, "I missed you, darling. I'm in need of a hug about now."

Buddy took a step back at her advance.

"What is it, why are you acting so dodgy?"

Buddy looked at Alex, who cleared his throat. "Spike, I'm here to help you."

An uncomfortable moment passed with Buddy staring at his feet.

"I feel like Blanche DuBois here, what's all this about. Y'having me taken off to a home or some'at?"

"Siddown," Buddy murmured, "Willow will tell you."

"You're mean," Spike complained, but she went to the bed. "When's this Willow coming?" She laid down the pistol.

"I'm Willow," Alex said.

Spike snorted good naturedly. "But you're –"

"It's a nickname."

"Oh." Spike lowered her head and tried to see Buddy's face. "In that case, my nickname is 'Beautiful Broad'. That works, don't it, Love?"

Buddy moved toward her, and Spike looked up at him, relief softening the crinkles around her eye.

Buddy picked up the pistol and walked to the door. "Will – er, _Alex_ will tell you what you have to do." He left and shut the door.

Spike was struck to silence. Her lower lip drooped, and she bit it.

"It's a ritual," Alex told her, "and it'll bring back all your lost …"

Spike's lip oozed blood.

"Health. You'll get all your lost health back."

Spike shook her head bewilderedly. The movement caused her pain, and she slowly pressed her hand against her head. "Okay."

Alex hesitated. "Buddy is really, really concerned about you, Spike. Your eye and all those … bullet holes."

"Is that right?" Exasperation made her shrill. "Well he was bloody tender to me up to now. He drove me in from Vegas, tending my wounds, cleaning me up like I was a flippin' baby. Now he can't look at me."

She turned halfway around. "Sorry. New bride, uh? I may be getting my period too, I'm so emotional. Sorry if I'm embarrassing you."

Alex shook his head. "Listen, this ritual involves a little magic. It'll heal you and that's what we all want."  
>A hopeful look crossed Spike's face. "Will it fix up my eye? It's absolutely gone, you know."<p>

Alex felt himself nodding and went with it. "Oh yeah, your eye'll be completely healed."

"Well, I'm in then. Whatever gets things back to normal. Buddy still owes me some honeymoon time, and we can afford it."

"Okay," Alex said softly. "We'll start by having you lay back, up here. That's good. Okay, close your eyes, I want you to clear your mind …"

…

Hermione looked up from the tome she was reading and said softly, "That's it."  
>"What is?" Anya asked.<p>

"It was probably Surgat. Yes, had to be. The demon who bargains once. If the summoner requests a second deed Surgat then owns him. He's a very powerful, but harmless demon if handled properly."

Anya took a chair next to her. "I know all about Surgat, Girl-Giles."

"Please," Giles said aggrievedly, "just call me Giles."

"Whatever you say, lady. I knew Surgat back when he was just a Rwasundi Demon."

"The temporal disturbance causing type? They're very rare."

"Good reason for that." Anya leaned back and laced her fingers behind her head. "But you're the expert, Giles."

"No," Hermione said, "I'm just a cursed victim and I need your help. You say he started as a Rwasundi Demon. How did he become a rogue, then?"

"Simple really. He wouldn't stop messing with other demons. The Principles don't allow for that sort of thing, but Surgat was always full of contempt for everyone. He followed the Principles only when he was forced to.

"He was feuding with a demon, a member of the Sahrvin Clan who had a big wedding planned. Surgat stirred things up, and before anyone knew what was happening the wedding was over. The bride was married to a Grimslaw Demon that already implanted her with eggs."

Hermione removed her glasses. "Interesting, and … ecch."

Anya tossed her head. "The Powers stuck Surgat in a little hell dimension, only to be released when summoned for spells and curses. The only kicks he gets these days come from torturing the poor slobs who screw up while commanding him."

"And since Rayne seems to have disappeared?"

"Surgat may have him. Since there's no big bad out here at the moment, just the usual vamps and demons, odds are something went wrong.

"But if you're going to summon Surgat, count me out, Giles."

Hermione glance at her sharply. "Why did you call me Giles?"

Anya slapped him. "Giles!"

Hermione's glasses fell from her face.  
>"You'd better concentrate, Rupert Giles, Watcher of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. How will you be able to deal with Surgat if you're losing your memory? You'll be a lot worse off than if you married some dumb robot."<p>

"Oh yes, yes," Hermione muttered, picking her glasses up off the floor. "I did feel I was losing myself again, but I'm alright now. I must summon Surgat right away, then."

She swung back to Anya. "A robot, you say?"  
>Anya shook her head and heaved a resigned sigh. "Looks like I'm gonna be schlepping you through another crisis, Giles old girl."<p>

…

Garnerbot drove the Firebird with _joie de vivre_, getting much pleasure from the excellent handling, the tight steering, the wonderful pick-up the car offered on the highway. He blew the doors off a Lexus and laughed as it tried to catch up to him.

The front end was a disaster. The bumper was crushed down to the license plate, the grill was cracked and the hood buckled. Both headlights still functioned, but he wanted her pristine. If he went out of pocket for repairs, what good would that be? That jerk Buddy didn't want to sell. Maybe he could convince the kid, make him an offer he couldn't refuse.

Garnerbot turned off into downtown Sunnydale. He decided he would offer fifty grand, because that was a sum Buddy would otherwise never see in his lifetime. And James Garner, rich and famous actor, could well afford it.

He drove to Manny's Garage and parked. An estimate for the bodywork could be an added bargaining chip.

A dark sedan drove up behind the Firebird and two men got out. As Garnerbot walked to the office he turned back to see them examining the car. He went back and said, "Something I can do for you guys?"

They were big men. One stood maybe six-four, balding with a toothpick in his mouth. The other was a six-footer, broad with muscles and thick-necked. Both wore suits that had a tailored look, but he could tell from the bulges under their arms that they wore shoulder holsters. Could be feds, or they could be muscle.

"Yeah," the shorter one said. "We love this car. She for sale?"

Garnerbot stepped close. "It's not mine," he replied. "So why don't you girls drive off in your pretty little carriage, huh?"

The two looked at one another, the tall one smiling idiotically around his toothpick.

"You're not very friendly," the shorter one said.

"Check back with me later when I'm not so cranky. I may even pinch your cheeks and kiss you."

The tall one stepped toward Garnerbot, spitting out the toothpick. The shorter one stopped him. "Wait, Toothpick. Not now. I said not now."

Toothpick tried to shake him off, and Garnerbot took a step back, at the ready.

"Listen to your girlfriend, Toothpick," he taunted.

Toothpick's eyes flashed, but he stood back. He straightened his tie, then plucked another toothpick from the breast pocket of his shirt. He stuck it in his face while pointing at Garnerbot with his other hand, tacitly promising something unpleasant.

Garnerbot flashed him a grin. "See ya later, Nosepick."

He turned his back on the men and walked unhurriedly to the office.

The men got in their car and drove away, but down the street they u-turned and parked where they could keep the Firebird in sight.


	19. Rayne Dance

Angel drove, peering through the small rectangle of windshield unblocked by cardboard. The remaining aperture was blotted with gray paint. Each window was covered up similarly in order to prevent his burning to ash.

Next to him Buddy sat silently and watched through his own rectangle. Angel didn't disturb him until they pulled up to the Magic Box.

"Okay, Buffy."

Buddy got out without a word. Angel pulled around back and parked next to the rear door. A canopy over the exit was a convenient shade. He used a small, bent screwdriver from his coat pocket to open the lock.

The thick door opened to a wall of noise.

"Get out, Angel," Anya shrilled. She and Hermione stood inside a pentagram, while Surgat writhed and cavorted before them. The demon spied Angel and leaped to the edge of his misty circle. Angel dove forward in a tuck-and-roll with Surgat's massive hands chasing him. He hopped up inside the circle and Surgat surged insanely against the invisible barrier.

"You should have stayed out," Hermione scolded.

"Told ya," Anya added.

"Great warning," Angel replied. "But Buffy may come back here any minute.

"Buffy!" he yelled. "Do _not_ come back here."

Surgat regarded the trio with bared fangs, then a sly expression slowly overcame his fury. He opened wide and yelled in a perfect imitation of Angel's voice, "Buffy, come back here."

"No!" Hermione screamed, and Angel yelled as well. Anya added her voice, and the result was an incoherent din.

Buddy opened the door. "What's the boggle?" he demanded.

Surgat stretched out his arms to get him. Angel sprang from the protection of the circle and landed on Surgat's side, his arms encircling the demon's neck. Surgat nearly toppled from the impact, but recovered quickly. He spun and twisted wildly to dislodge his unexpected attacker.

Anya nervously left the perimeter and grabbed Buddy's arm. She yanked him into the pentagram.

"Stupid himbo," she clucked.

Angel's lower half see-sawed with the force of Surgat's contortions. His legs hit the demon's chest and Surgat clutched them. He tore Angel off his neck. Angel tried to kick free, pelting Surgat with both fists. The rogue demon used his awesome strength to gather Angel in his arms and compress him into a quivering ball.

"Ha!" he cried triumphantly, turning to the others. "Would you like me to spare this one?"

"If we say yes, we're sunk," Anya told the others.

Buddy wobbled unsteadily. "What the hell's going on?"

Hermione said, "We've summoned Surgat to give us Rayne. We've just made the request, now we can't make a second one. We mustn't accept his offer."  
>"Why not?"<p>

Anya said angrily, "Save the questions, Captain Jack." To Surgat, "Shut your ugly mouth, you toadstool-lookin' slug. You'll do the deed I ordered you to do, and do it now, like right away. I command you."

Buddy squeezed her shoulder. "But Angel …"

She shook him off. "Immediately, you pansy florist. And I demand you beat yourself about the head with both hands to show I mean business."

She leaned in close to Buddy and whispered hoarsely, "He has to comply. When he lets go of Angel he can escape."

Surgat howled in rage. He slapped himself in the skull with one massive paw.

"She said _both _hands, doo-doo pants," Buddy bellowed.

Surgat's eyes flickered onto Buddy, and he grimaced in frustration. Then, a smile crossed his seething lips. He tucked Angel between his legs and clutched him tightly with his knees. Angel's arms were pinned and he could hardly move. With both arms free, Surgat belabored his own head until blood spouted and chunks of flesh flew.

"Now jump up and down," Hermione screamed.

Surgat snatched Angel from between his legs and jumped repeatedly.

"Put your hands at your sides," Anya ordered.

Surgat clutched Angel with one claw and dropped both hands to his side. Buddy tried to reach for him, but Anya slapped his hand.

"Cover your eyes," she called.

Surgat didn't seem to move, so Buddy commanded, "_Simon says_ cover your eyes."  
>Hermione nudged him. "He <em>closed<em> his eyes, do you see? This is getting us nowhere."

Buddy hopped with impatience. "Can't we ask him back later? One of us can order him to release Angel."

Anya shook her head. "He'll anticipate that and kill Angel. Has to be now."

Hermione pulled them both to her and spoke _sotto voce. _They put their heads close and nodded. Surgat, released for the moment from their discipline, shook Angel like a rattle then bit viciously into his shoulder. Angel cried out miserably.

All at once the others rushed Surgat. They circled the dusty mist and kicked his tree trunk legs.

"Fat ass!" Anya mocked.

"Wimp," Hermione cried.

"Buh, uh … fart-knocker," Buddy stammered.

Surgat's eyes bulged and he roared and swung at them. He grabbed at Buddy, who feinted to one side then rolled the other and darted back into the circle. He clutched at Anya, who ducked and threw herself back to safety. Hermione backed quickly into the pentagram. The three waggled their fingers and blatted raspberries at Surgat. The demon writhed with unbridled rage and flung Angel at them.

Angel hit them and all three dropped to the floor and slid. They stopped before leaving the circle, but their bodies had smudged away the center of the five-pointed star. Surgat was now free to move around the room.

He caromed off the walls and ceiling. He sprang at them from different angles, testing the integrity of the remaining force field. His claws breached it slightly and clicked inches away from Anya's face.

"Quick, do something," Buddy yelled, holding Angel's head in his arms.

Anya pulled an extra bag of magic sand from her pocket and hit Hermione's shoulder.

"Repair the pentagram."

Hermione held out her hands and Anya poured into them. She took the rest of the sand and with shaking hand, poured it along the obliterated lines. Buddy and Angel moved around them gingerly, keeping off the sand lines. Surgat saw this and threw his massive bulk furiously against their shield. His stench nearly overwhelmed them. Hermione gagged and Buddy covered his nose and mouth.

After what seemed an eternity Surgat was pulled inexorably back to the dusty mist, entrapped once again. He spat and vomited at them, and his malodorous bile coated them, turning their stomachs.

Anya spoke first. "Spank yourself with both hands," she snarled, "until further notice."

They all relaxed a little as Surgat became reluctantly engrossed in smacking his massive paws against his huge posterior. But his ear-splitting cries continued.

Hermione cupped her hands to her mouth and yelled, "Sing something from H.M.S. Pinafore."

If possible, Surgat's expression became even more surly. He sang in a surprisingly clear tenor, _**"A British tar is a soaring soul, as free as a mountain bird, his energetic fist should be ready to resist a dictatorial word …"**_

They took a moment to regroup and regain their feet. Even Angel was able to stand, although he oozed blood from many nasty wounds.

"Shut up already," Anya said. "And by the way, nice voice."

Surgat's eyes glowered balefully upon them. "You are all fools," he screeched.

"Can't deny that," Hermione muttered, and the others agreed.

"Give us Rayne," Anya commanded. "Give him now, or the consequences will be severe."

"You want me to fix him up for you?" Surgat offered innocently.

"No," Hermione growled, "just bring him."

"Let me do the talking," Anya snapped.

"Then get on with it," Hermione snapped back.

"Who is the master here anyway?" Surgat asked.

"Hurt yourself," Hermione said.

Surgat smiled and slapped his hand lightly. "I'm a naughty boy."

Hermione stamped her foot. "Damn."

Anya smacked her arm. "Mind the sand, you stupid cow." She turned back to Surgat. "Grab your ugly genitals in your claws and rip –"

Surgat held out his hands pleadingly. "Why don't I just bring you Rayne?"

Anya nodded. "Immediately."

Surgat swirled back into the dusty mist. He remained gone for several moments, although the mist remained.

"Is he coming back?" Buddy asked.

"How did you get in, anyway?" Anya demanded. "Wasn't the front door locked?"

"I picked it."

"Did you lock it again?"  
>Buddy went pale. "I can't remember."<br>"Let's get this over with before someone else walks in." Anya called, "Yoo-hoo, ugly meat flake, I said bring Rayne right away."

The mist swirled and Surgat spun back into the room with Rayne attached to him and screaming in agony.

"You still want him?" Surgat questioned. "As you can see, we love each other a lot."

Hermione looked away. "Let him go, for God's sake."

Anya hurriedly added, "Just a figure of speech. She's not making a new request. Just let him go, give him to us now."  
>The sly look returned to Surgat's face, and he tried to breach the mist. He could not, and he bellowed in disappointment and thrust Rayne back and forth to punish him. Rayne shrieked, convulsed weakly, and then dropped into unconsciousness.<p>

Surgat grunted in disgust and threw Rayne onto the floor.

"Want me to leave?"

Anya clamped her hand roughly over Hermione's mouth. She glared vehemently at Buddy to keep him quiet too. Ignoring Surgat, she chanted the dismissal incantation that would get rid of him. "_Non vidi, legola e ni recturnum, e ni molestum nunce evicturne_ …"

A disappointed Surgat clawed his chest and let his blood spray them. "I will find a way to gnaw your bleeding bodies to chum, I will fornicate with your corpses, I will –"

The door opened suddenly and Tara and Kendra walked in.

Surgat crowed ecstatically and reached for them.

Tara mumbled a hasty protection spell and Surgat's claws thumped against resistance.

The rogue demon's howling threats grew fainter as he swirled back into the dusty mist. Presently the mist dissipated, and all that remained of his visit were his noxious body fluids and hideous stench.

"I wanna go back to Vegas now," Kendra told Tara.

Anya took her hand off Hermione's mouth.

"You see?" Hermione said calmly. "He's harmless if handled properly."

Anya covered her mouth again.


	20. Crushed

Dusk was gathering when Spike ventured from a culvert at Kingman's Bluff, overlooking the Pacific. She held back until the sun ceased reflecting off the shimmering water before tramping through the sand to the surf. Rays of crimson glory adorned the sky, a reminder to vampires of sunsets they could never hope to see again, except in photographs, movies, or the moment of their death.

She let the sea foam around her ankles and wet the hem of her despised coat with its frilly borders and bullet holes. She tore the bandages off her head and threw them away.

With her eye shut tight she cursed fate. To be staked in a fight and crumble to dust would be a fitting end. Even a beheading by some ambitious fellow vampire held some dignity, but this? To languish as a female, throwing herself at sodding men like – like Buffy was now? She could tear the irony like base metal if she could only lay her delicate, alabaster hands on it.

Used. By a slayer. The memories flooded back, all those intimate, feminine things she had performed with Buddy Morrison, a.k.a. the slayer that she had ripped, fanged, eaten, murdered in dream and fantasy a hundred times. She had been his lover. His … she nearly dropped to her knees as she choked out the word.

"Wife."  
>She shrugged out of the coat and let it fall. The water was cold as she walked in to her waist.<p>

The worst part was that even now she felt like a woman, thought as a woman, longed for womanly things.

She sloshed up to her neck and began to swim.

The worst part was that the real Spike was gone, replaced by some freak with his memories but also large mammaries that made her back ache, and which required bras that itched and chafed. Her tummy puffed out for no reason and made her look fat. It seemed so damned important, for some reason. Water retention was a bitch.

She planed her body forward and drove her still powerful arms through the water, aiming for the darkling horizon. _Red sky at night, sailors'_ _delight_. Fine weather ahead, no rain or storm. No clouds tomorrow to hide the sun.

The worst. The worst …

She swam faster, exhilarated by the reality of impending death. Sharks might pulp her to cutlets and she would wind up in their bellies, and in the mouths of the tiny Remoras that tagged along for scraps. Or she would survive to greet the sunrise, to marvel one last time at long forgotten beauty before rendering to ash.

She dug in and swam harder.

The worst part was that she missed her husband. Her heart ached for Buddy, who hated her as much as she should hate him. Yet she could not hate the one person who, over the course of her long and eventful life, had ever made her feel happy and complete.

Drusilla was desire disguised as love, but this was love true, this was forever love, love effulgent.

Buddy would never know her feelings. Her body could never be found; it would burn or be eaten, or sink and never rise again. Even if they did retrieve her and Buddy gazed uncaring at her corpse, would he notice and divine meaning from such a small detail?

She still wore her wedding ring.

…

Ethan Rayne lay on the floor of The Magic Box with his knees tucked to his chest. He shivered under two blankets, ignoring every question and command put to him. They gave him water but it made him cough horribly. He spat some blood and a tooth, which pocked onto the floor.

"I'm afraid he was quite tormented by our friend Surgat," Hermione said.

"Su – Surgat!" Rayne quavered, and tried to crawl away.

"Relax," Hermione said, and Buddy held him down. Rayne jerked his head around uncomprehendingly and wailed piteously. Where the whites of his eyes should be, broken blood vessels had painted solid walls of deep red.

"Don't be a baby," Anya scolded. "You're safe now, and here's your friend Giles."

"Ripper?" Rayne squeaked hopefully.

"Yes," Hermione soothed, patting his arm. "It's your old friend Ripper, Ethan. So don't worry, Surgat is far away. So reverse this spell, you stupid bint!"

Hermione applied a judicious foot against Rayne's backside. Rayne responded by whimpering for his mum.

Buddy ran a hand through his hair and said, "Knock that off, or I'll never get back to my wi -"

Hermione looked at him. "What?"

"I'll never get back to my … oh, crap."

"Thinking of Spike again?" Anya guessed.

Buddy nodded. "And not the evil, _jerk-I-want-to-kill _Spike either. The long-haired, big breasted Spike with the shapely –"

"Enough," Tara said. "Like Kendra already told you guys, the mob's coming, and they're not going to hesitate to shoot anyone who's with Spike."

Kendra nodded. "Vince and his boys mean business. They're posing as _feds, _remember, so they think they can't lose."

"They're tracking the car," Buddy reminded her. "The car's gone."

"Don't forget," Tara replied, "they also have your address."

"Sit up," Hermione snapped at Rayne, and slapped the back of his head.

"With Mom and Dawn cleared out, there's no danger at home." Buddy kneeled next to Rayne. "I'm with Giles, let's get this jackass up."

He tugged at Rayne's shoulders. "If you don't do what you're told we'll give you back to Surgat."

Rayne shrank into his blankets and abject terror contorted his features. After Buddy nudged him with his foot, he whispered hoarsely, "What must I do?"

Buddy looked at Hermione. "What _does _he have to do?"

Hermione adjusted her glasses. "Well, uh, simple really. To recant the spell, that is, reverse the curse, he must merely –"

Rayne bawled and shook his head furiously.

"He must summon Surgat and request it."

Rayne's tears sprinkled to the floor.

Buddy said, "I thought you could only summon him once."

Anya looked smug. "No, you can only make one _request_. Recanting is in the Principles, every spell can be reversed. Well, almost every spell."

Kendra headed for the door. "I've warned you, now I'm out of here. Tara, you want to come along, you can."

Hermione hurried to her side. "Kendra, do you remember me? No, of course you don't, never mind that. But … we're friends – well, not friends, but colleagues. Hmm, that's actually rather a stretch, but we associated, and I – that is, my former self, well, you and I had a sort of mutual –"

Kendra said, "Can I have a coffee break?"

Hermione pouted. "Damn. Listen dear, you're not really Kendra, a pretty girl, you're Xander Harris, a man. It would be wise if you stayed. Willow is coming, actually Alex – but really Willow, as a man. She can help you to regain your identity, as she did with me. Or he, as he currently is a man."

Kendra shook her head disbelievingly. "Wow. You mean I can be as squared-away as you if I wait for this man-woman? I know I'm being madcap, but I think … no.

"Good luck, Tara." she ran out and jumped into her rented car. Alex was just walking up, and he ran after her and knocked on the driver's side window.

"Kendra, wait!"

The car's tires screeched as it bucked forward. Alex jumped back and watched her go.

Inside, he took off his jacket and tossed it over the cash register. "Your mom and Dawn are safe," he told Buddy. "My mother was a bit jerky, but she came through with a little coaxing."

Buddy looked at him. "You talking to me?"

Alex slapped his cheek. He hurriedly raised his hands and said, "Don't hit back, you'll flatten me. Remember, Buddy? You're really Buffy Summers, come on, focus."

Hermione slapped herself. "Yes, that's the stuff. But we can't stand here slapping ourselves silly. We need this curse lifted, soonest."

"Let's summon Surgat, and if Rayne doesn't do what we say, we hand him over."

"Wonderful idea, Buddy," Hermione returned. "But Rayne has to give the incantation himself, or it won't work. Moreover, if we hand him back Surgat will kill him. We'll be stuck in our assumed identities for the rest of our lives."

"That won't work," Alex said. "My mom told me to be a girl again, or don't darken her doorway ever." He brightened. "Actually, _that _part's not so bad."

Anya took hold of Rayne's arms and shook him. "Get up you little toad. This gang is bad enough without changing sexes every five minutes."

"Anya," Hermione said, stepping forward.

"Back off, Giles or Julie Andrews, or whoever you are at this minute. He's okay. Men get raped all the time. In fact I made it happen in some of my past exploits. Threaten him enough and he can function just fine. Give him some liquor, he'll perk up."

Hermione shrugged and filled a coffee mug with brandy. Alex and Anya lifted Rayne to a chair and he sipped slowly at first, then more eagerly, snuffing a bit through his nose. He coughed then drank the rest.

"More."

Hermione poured two fingers more. "Not too much, you're not getting drunk. You will summon Surgat, Ethan. Or I promise you, Surgat will have you."

Rayne gulped the brandy and slammed the mug on the table. A portion of his confidence showed in his posture, and he said calmly, "May I at least have a pair of trousers?"

"Why?" Hermione retorted. "If you slip up, it'll be that much easier for you and Surgat to resume your honeymoon. Now let's go."


	21. Toil and Trouble

Garnerbot was getting damned tired of seeing the black sedan in his rearview mirror. He sped by the police station, noting with satisfaction that a number of uniformed cops lounged around their cars with coffee cups in hand. The cars roared past at criminal speed, but the cops merely yelled at them.

"Lazy jerks," Garnerbot murmured.

Next, he tried the streetlight dodge, lurching to a stop at a green. He ignored the sedan's horn blasts, and when the light turned amber he gunned the engine, peeling out at the stroke of red. He laughed as the sedan got jammed up by cross traffic.

On the other side of town he pulled into the Doublemeat Palace drive-thru for a victory bite. The squawky box muffled out an incoherent greeting, then "Woodjoo lyktoootry our whifflegrooooblox?"

"Give me a cheeseburger and coffee, that'll be it."  
><em>Click, whirr, shhhh<em>. Bloshblek fries with that?"

"Just the burger and coffee, " he answered gruffly.

_Fffffffzzzzzchk._ Would you crrrrrffrr anything else to drink?"

The muscles in Garnerbot's jaw tightened. "Just the burger and coffee, pal."

"Wooodjulek crrreeeeammmm errr _shhhhigrrr clllk_.

Garnerbot mumbled an imprecation and drove to the window.

The attendant smiled vacuously at him. "Wooodjulek crreeeeammmm errr shhhhigrrr sir?"

"No," Garnerbot snapped. "I'll take the coffee black - like your future."  
>The teenage wunderkind blinked, then responded, "There's no call for that sort of language, sir."<br>"English is all I know, son. It's a simple order, like 'Use the potty when you poo-poo.' Am I getting through to you?"

The youth glanced at the cash register. "Five-fifty-two," he said dourly.

Garnerbot handed him a ten, and the kid checked the register to see what change to give. As he handed it back he said, "Can you please pull around to the front and someone will bring it to you shortly?"  
>Garnerbot angrily caught the kid's wrist. "If I wanted to wait all day I'd have gone to IHOP. This is a drive-thru, and I'm <em>going <em>to drive through, capisce?"

The black sedan pulled in behind him.

Garnerbot released the attendant's wrist. "Keep the change," he said and floored it.

"I already gave you the change," the youth griped.

This is one sticky tail, Garnerbot mused. It would take a smart move, a _Rockford _move, to shake this guy. Earlier he had seen a promising setup at U.C. Sunnydale, so he raced there. The sedan kept pace, and he slowed a little to lull the driver. When they came parallel to a Permit Only parking lot he accelerated. He cranked a fast right that left smoking rubber arcs on the asphalt, and ran up the curb next to the exit driveway. A huge sign blared CAUTION! DO NOT ENTER SEVERE TIRE DAMAGE. Garnerbot gritted his teeth as the curb banged the undercarriage, hoping the other guy was too intent on the chase to notice the sign. Sure enough, the sedan squealed around the turn and up the driveway. The row of spikes blew out all four tires, and Garnerbot grinned and threw them a wave. He turned for the next exit, grimacing at the way the engine knocked now. He headed for the Magic Box at low speed. When he parked and turned off the engine, the Firebird bucked like a bull before dying. He shook his head and pocketed the brand new key he had made at the locksmith's.

A vampire leapt on him from the dark. Garnerbot staggered a little, then tried to get a grip on his attacker. The vamp lowered his face to Garnerbot's neck and sank his fangs in.

Garnerbot gave a strangled yell. "Help, me," he cried. "Becker, Bart, Beau. Beth, Hilts, somebody." He tried poking the vampire in the eye.

The door to the Magic Box opened and Alex came out holding a stake. The vampire recoiled in disgust and backed away, spitting and slapping at his tongue. He shot a poison glare at Garnerbot.

"What are you?" he hissed. "You're not human."

Garnerbot clamped a hand to his neck. "Look who's talking."

The vampire ran across the street and ducked between buildings.

Inside, Alex and Tara surveyed the wound. "There's, like, a little blue arc of electricity flashing every few seconds," Alex said incredulously. "I don't know anything about robots, but it doesn't look good."

"Damn." Garnerbot straightened his tie. "Well, to get repaired and recharged, I have to go see a man in a basement." He handed Alex the key to the Firebird. "Give this to Buddy, and tell him it's fifty grand or nothing."

He headed for the door.

"Wait," Tara said.

"Yeah wait," Alex seconded. "You can … tell Buddy yourself. He's in the back room."

Garnerbot paused. "Okay, it'll have to be quick."

"Well," Alex fidgeted. "He's actually in a demon session right now, but you know what, keep the car. It's yours. Buddy doesn't want it anymore."

Garnerbot headed out again. "It's in worse shape than I am right now. But I'll be back."

"This is bad," Tara said when he was gone. She held out her hand. "I'll drop it somewhere."  
>Alex shook his head. "Kendra said they're tracking it, and I don't want to risk you."<p>

Tara smiled and looked away. She was unsure of her position with Willow lately. She wasn't sure what Willow's position was with Willow. She was happy Willow hadn't called her bluff and sent her out in that death car.

Alex made his decision. "I'll just drive it down the street a ways and walk back."

"What if they need you, what if something happens?"

"I'll run, then. Be back in half a shake."  
>Alex made sure Tara locked the door after her. A Ford Fairmont wheezed up next to the Firebird and he had to wait. The passenger door flew open and dinged the Firebird. He almost protested but remembered it didn't matter. Toothpick slowly unstuffed his bulk from the car and stood up. The driver came up and gave a nod.<p>

"Sorry for the dent, Mac."

"That's okay," Alex replied.

Toothpick stuck a fresh stick in his face. He grinned around it as the smaller guy stuck a gun barrel in Alex's ear.

…...

Spike swam languorously on her back, picking out constellations in the clear sky. The water was calm, and its temperature matched Spike's, making her feel comfortably enfolded in its warmth.

She smiled at the stars and wondered what it would be like, chundering to ash. How far had she come? Peering into the darkness revealed nothing. Her vampire's facility for seeing in the dark seemed completely impaired.

Some nearby splashing caused a chill to travel down Spike's spine. It could be a tuna, a flying fish, or a whale. Could be anything really, but Spike knew in her bones it was a shark. She stopped in place and watched, and presently a fin broke water a few yards away. Everything seemed frozen in time as she watched that nightmare fin churn toward her in the moonlight.

Here it is, she realized vaguely, exactly what I expected. No sense fighting it. She asked for it, and here was death in the form of nature's best killing machine to deliver it.

A shudder shook her as she anticipated the impact of the jaws, gaping and gnashing with its multiple rows of sawlike teeth. They would slice through her flesh and bone with ease, turning her to chum. She would die now without a fight.

Not bloody likely. Her body tensed as she prepared to battle it. Just a stupid fish, after all, instinct and no brains, like a Faryl Demon. A fighting grin bared Spike's teeth and she felt her face vamp out. The degraded lymph that served as blood for her kind raced along in her sludgy veins, her undead adrenal gland infusing her muscles with their demonic power.

The fin submerged. Abruptly a wave smacked her in the face as the fin's owner breached the ocean surface. It leaped over Spike's head and knifed gracefully back to the water, then reappeared to laugh in her face.

"You fluttering sod," Spike cursed in relief. The dolphin rode its tail and chittered as though communicating with him.

"What d'you want, smiley?" Spike reached out to pet it and the dolphin ducked so that her hand connected with its dorsal fin.

Spike gripped it. The dolphin towed her along, working its powerful tail to cut a foamy swath in their wake. Wherever the creature intended to take her, they were going to make good time. Spike knew in her bones they were headed for shore, but this time she knew her bones were right. These docile creatures were known for helping people in distress. Spike considered the option of letting go, of rebuffing the happy little bloke and dying on schedule. But nah, she figured, fate was fate, might as well play the cards she was dealt.

She would return to Buffy, whatever form or identity that Buffy was. Man or woman regardless, she would always be in trouble. If Spike had to fight the big bads with flopping tits and menstrual cramps, so be it. What kind of man would let a little thing like being a woman interfere with his being a man?

Singing a little nautical ditty inside her head, Spike let the dolphin take her home, kicking and stroking a bit to help them along.

…...

Surgat regarded his summoners silently, his massive chest rising and falling with each measured breath. Half of his latest, luckless partner was still attached to him. He removed the remains and dropped them onto the floor before them.

Anya jabbed Rayne's ribs hard enough to draw a cry. "Talk with conviction, he's not listening."

Buddy tightened his grip on the back of Rayne's neck. "I can hurt you too," he whispered to Rayne.

Rayne closed his eyes and gathered his blankets more tightly around him. "I-I reverse m-my spell, and renounce my curse," he piped shrilly.

Surgat stared at him malevolently but said nothing.

"I don't see why we can't wait," Rayne slobbered to Anya. "What's the hurry?"

Buddy thumped his kidney and Rayne grunted.

"I m-mean it, Surgat," he stammered. "You are bound by the Principles, and you must do what –"

Surgat cut loose a throaty shriek, which gave them all gooseflesh. "You are bound as well. No more mister nice-guy. I do nothing without proper commands, so torture me all you please."

Anya snorted. "He's bluffing. Make him hurt enough and he'll comply."

Rayne turned a fearful visage to her. "I won't. I-I c-c-can't bear violence any more. Please … don't make me."

Buddy let out a frustrated groan. "What are the correct phrases, anyway?"

Anya hefted her book. "They're in here somewhere, and unless Rayne grows a pair and motivates this demon, we've gotta waste time going through it."

"I'll make him hurt," Buddy countered. "Hey Fatso, slug yourself and … and smell your own stink."

Surgat ignored him.

Anya looked hopelessly at Buddy. "I already told you he'll only listen to Rayne." She opened the book and rested it on Rayne's back. "I'll find the right verbiage. Let's see, cancelling, cancelling … here, spell reversals. Let me read."

Surgat favored Rayne with a knowing leer. He bucked his hips meaningfully and pointed at him, them licked his finger and touched it to his sizable posterior. The finger sizzled. Surgat winked.


	22. Slight Chance of Rayne

Hermione was sleeping, slumped over a chronicle with her chin on her chest. Exhaustion had overtaken her finally, and her fretting and fuming over being excluded from the latest Surgat encounter had gnawed her emotions tremendously. She blinked awake and saw drool on her blouse, and realized she had been completely buttoned by fatigue.

A hard voice spoke and she looked up without moving. Toothpick and the smaller guy shoved Alex around with a gun. Tara had her hands up.

"No need for that, hotsy totsy," the smaller guy smirked.

Hermione eased herself under the table. If she could get to the sales counter undetected, she could reach –"

"You," smaller guy called. "Frumpy broad, don't think I don't see you. Stand up, show me your hands."

Hermione climbed sheepishly to her feet.

"Hands."

She held them out. Toothpick walked over and touched her up and down with his humongously large mitts. When he squeezed her breast Hermione slapped his hand away.

"Don't be fresh," she scolded. "You wouldn't wish your mother to know of your crude behavior, would you?"

Toothpick shook his head. "No, I wouldn't want that." His voice was high-pitched and nasal, with a familiar ring to it.

"He sounds like Michael Jackson," Tara said to Alex. Alex giggled.

Toothpick's cheeks burned. "Enough of that," he snapped. "Tell us where that bleach-blonde chick is, the one who drove that Firebird outside.

"Why you laughing?" he shouted.

The three couldn't help themselves. The incongruity of the familiar voice issuing from such a great big hulk of a man filled them with mirth. Their titters broke into guffaws, and they were momentarily lost in laughter.

"I told you to keep quiet," smaller guy said.

Toothpick noticed the door leading to the back room. He pointed at it and smaller guy said, "What's back there?"

"A … a st-storeroom," Alex managed.

"Go check it, Tooth."

"No," Hermione shot quickly. "There's a demon encounter in that room, and anyone who enters will be in danger."

Toothpick and smaller guy laughed. "Now it's our turn to crack up," smaller guy sneered. "Toothpick, open it."

The big man went for the door. Hermione opened her mouth, then shut it. What was the use?

Anya was going through pronunciations with Rayne. "Say en-cone-ay tray, vie-pore-ol-ow."

Enconetre viporuulao," he said.

Surgat shook his head no.

The door opened and Toothpick peeked in. Surgat snapped to life. His hand darted out and clutched Toothpick by his oversized head. He yanked the big man to him, with Toothpick screaming and hiccupping in shocked terror.

"Who's that?" Anya demanded. "It sounds like Michael Jackson."

Surgat gargled for a moment, then spat a huge glob into Toothpick's face. He rubbed it in with his paw, then threw his prisoner at the open door. Toothpick slammed against the door jamb and tumbled to the floor.

Smaller guy reached in and pulled Toothpick out by his arm. From the doorway he aimed his pistol at Surgat and fired off three rounds. Surgat took them in the neck, the forehead and the mouth. The rogue demon smacked his lips and rubbed his belly mockingly.

"What the hell?" smaller guy exclaimed. He pulled the door shut.

Alex whacked him behind the ear with a 19th century Sese wood statue of a Nigerian Ibo. Smaller guy dropped like a sack of rice.

"Good shot," Hermione blessed her.

Tara picked up the pistol and handed it to Alex. "What are we going to do with him?" She pointed to Toothpick, who lay gasping for air and clawing at the gooey spittle covering his face.

Hermione took off her sweater and knelt beside him, wiping away the mess. "We should check the, um … "

"Pulse?" Tara offered.

"The Chronicles," she finished. "Check the Chronicles to find any reports of this. There has to be a reason Surgat didn't kill this, this Toothpick fellow. Find out what mischief he could visit on someone by applying his sputum."

With the goo wiped off, Toothpick still failed to gain sufficient breath. In fact, his breathing stopped completely. He went limp.

"He's not breathing," Tara observed. "Willow?"

Alex got down next to them. "I know CPR."

"No," Hermione grabbed Alex's arm. "No skin-to-skin contact. That could spread whatever Surgat has infected him with."

"But Giles –"

"No," Hermione barked. "It's unfortunate, but it can't be helped."

Alex jumped up and went to the table. "You had the Surgat Chronicles here?"

"Right."

"What about him?" Tara asked, indicating the smaller guy.

Hermione got up and went to the sales counter. "We'll tie him to a chair." She retrieved a thick roll of duct tape, as well as her two-shot derringer pistol, which she stuck discretely into her brassiere.

Tara reached out a hand to Toothpick, whose face was rapidly turning blue from cyanosis. She stopped herself and moved regretfully away.

"We could have used Angel just now," Hermione remarked, manhandling smaller guy into a chair.

Alex glanced up from the chronicle. "He must still be looking for Spike."

Hermione removed the wallet from the smaller guy's inside jacket pocket. "Let's see who he is," she murmured, flipping it open. "Nevada driver's license. Hmm, his name happens to be Guy Smalls.

"How utterly appropriate."

….

Spike turned off her motorcycle and walked it into her crypt. Angel was there waiting.

"Hello Cyclops, been playing on your tricycle?"

"What're you doin' here, you totterin' bint?"

"Waiting for you, gender-bender."

Spike wheeled the bike to the rear of the crypt, concealing it behind a sarcophagus.

"Well, here I am, you poofter. Say your piece then mince on back to L.A. where you belong."

He shook his head. "Uh-uh, Spikette. Buffy thinks you're needed at the Magic Box, so you're going. Now."

"You should have said so." Spike went for the door.

"Time is a factor, so we'll take your bike."

Spike put her hands on her hips. "What do you mean 'we,' white man?"

"We're both needed. You've wasted so much time doing – hey, where have you been, anyway? You look like you've been dipped in cat piss."

Spike retrieved the bike and headed for the door. "You can run alongside," she said. "Grab hold of the seat bar for momentum, but keep your slimy little mitts off my bum."

"Nuh-uh, Queen-For-A-Day. I drive, and you'll sit in back like a good little biker mama."

Spike hopped on. "Keep talking while I leave." She inserted her key and kick started the bike.

"Dammit," Angel growled, and got on behind her.

Spike recoiled. "Sit back farther, you masher. Keep mister teenieweenie to yourself."

"You're the one who wanted me rubbing up behind you."

Spike drove the motorcycle toward the street. "Don't hold me around the waist," she yelled back.

"Where do I hang on then?"

"My shoulders."

Angel reached for them, and immediately Spike accelerated, popping a wheelie. Angel fell off, landing flat on his back then rolling in the grass. Spike revved up and shifted gears, jamming his two-finger salute in farewell. Angel cursed explosively.

…

Garnerbot sat on Warren's video gaming couch and let the power cable recharge him. He had affected a repair of the neck gash by accessing the self-maintenance manual that Warren himself had put in Garnerbot's hard drive. He sighed contentedly. Soon he would be ready to return to the lovely Hermione.

Warren trundled down the stairs and stopped short. "What? You're back. Great. I've been looking for you everywhere, man. I thought I'd have to make me a whole other proto. Hey, what's with the patch?"

Garnerbot touched the brand new synthskin on his neck. "Nice job, huh? Had to do the delicate work in a mirror, too. I kept some of the micro-tools, might need that for lock picking."

"Uh-huh," Warren replied, nodding nonchalantly. He moved to the TV stand and snatched up his custom-made universal remote. Pointing at Garnerbot, he thumbed the WIPE MEMORY button.

"There," he said, setting down the remote. "Now, let's get that face off." He foraged in his tool box for a razor knife and approached Garnerbot. The robot's face was blank. Warren felt for the subtle facial seam and lifted the razor to it.

Garnerbot snatched his hand and shoved it away. "So that's what you'd do to me, eh? Drop it."

Warren yowled and dropped the razor knife under pressure of Garnerbot's grip.

"I wiped your memory. You're supposed to do my bidding."

Garnerbot tssked. "The remote's function is in my hard drive, genius. I just took out the batteries, now I'm going to do my bidding."

"Hey," Warren protested, flushing pinkly, "I made you, and I'm your boss. Your primary function is to serve me. I'm like … your father, for crying out loud."

The recharging was complete. Garnerbot unplugged, then gathered up the recharger and cord to take with him. "My dad's named Rocky. He's a short, stocky retired truck driver. You, on the other hand, are a snot-nosed, acne-faced kid with delusions of adequacy. I'm going back to my fiancé now, so toodles."

"You can't go," Warren blurted. "You're not a real man. You know it, you're a robot."

Garnerbot turned back to him. "Look at this face, this lean but muscular physique. Do I look like a robot to you? I'm in demand in Hollywood. I'm rich and getting richer, and you wish you could control me. But I'm part Cherokee, and any man who tries to make me his slave is getting scalped."

As he walked up the basement stairs, Warren hastily put fresh batteries in the remote. He ran upstairs after Garnerbot and repeatedly stabbed the WIPE button. "Return to the basement," he called.

Garnerbot looked back and smiled. "I did more to it than just take out the batteries, stupid. Don't believe everything you're told." He shook his head and laughed, striding rapidly into the dark night.

…

Vince Scarpino sipped straight scotch then set his glass in its holder.

"This is like, luxury," one of the torpedoes commented.

"That's right, Gino," Vince nodded. "Enjoy it."

"I'll enjoy taking a piss," Gianni complained.

"You shouldn't've drank so much," Vince said. "I toldja take it easy while we're on the job."

"I can hold my liquor."

"Then cross your legs and hold it. We're almost there anyway. Angie, how far from the car?"

The passenger up front stared at an electronic map mounted on the dash. "A little under eight miles."

"Great. So sit quiet."

"I hope there's a can there."

Minutes later the three dark sedans convoyed down the street to stop in front of the Magic Box.

Vince fastened the top button of his shirt and adjusted his tie. "Any answer from Guy?"

"Still straight to voice mail."

The men got out, leaving a driver to watch the cars. Eleven men strode to the store, one waddling with his knees together.

Within, Hermione stood with her ear to the back door, trying to hear what was going on with Surgat.

"Giles," Alex said.

Hermione ignored him.

"Giles. Hermione, you'd better look at this. He held up the chronicle, but Hermione kept focus on the door.

"Hermione!"

"What?" she turned around.

"It says Surgat can turn a living being into a Golem – a walking dead, with his mucus. So apparently that Toothpick guy can rise up any minute."

Tara poked Alex with an elbow. "He's doing it right now."

At Hermione's feet Toothpick opened his eyes and let rip a chilling, primal scream. He sat up, and Hermione backed away. His eyes were ringed with black, his lips purple. He lumbered to his feet awkwardly and fixed them with crazy, red-tinged eyes.

"Weapons," Hermione said urgently.

The door kicked open and Gianni ran in with the others stalking behind him.

"Bathroom," he gnashed. "Where's the john?" His eyes fell on the Surgat's newly minted Golem.

"Toothpick, what the hell happened to you?"

With an eager moan Toothpick sprang at Gianni.

….

Surgat was pleased with himself.

"You should check on your friend," he sneered. "You may not like what you find."

"You know who that was?" Anya asked Buddy.

"Never saw him before."

Surgat raged.

Anya prodded Rayne, who had dropped to the floor during the distraction. "Get up, Rayne."

"No, no, no" he squealed, rocking himself.

Buddy kicked him.

"No," Rayne insisted, writhing.

"He shouldn't do that," Anya cautioned.

Too late. Surgat whipped around the room, freed by the partial erasure of the pentagram. He caromed off walls, ricocheted off furniture. Light bulbs flared then blew, and the stench that filled the room was uniquely unbearable. The demon fell on the protective circle from every angle, trying to get his claws on the three huddled within.

Buddy hauled Rayne up, resisting his efforts to crumple back down. The blankets dropped, leaving him stark naked. Rayne held his hands over his face, muffling his baby-like weeping.

Anya pulled out her extra bag of powders and sand. "Good thing I have th—"

Rayne spastically flung out an arm and knocked the bag from her hand. It landed a foot outside the circle.

"Well, that's nice," Anya said insularly. She sat down and hugged her knees.

"We're all going to die."


	23. A Murderous Melee

Toothpick fell on Gianni hungrily. Gianni tried to fend him off but Toothpick grabbed hold and gobbled on his hand. Vince's men swarmed and hauled the big man off Gianni, who screamed and held up finger stumps that spouted blood. Toothpick chewed with a finger protruding from his lips like the omnipresent toothpick that gave him his nickname. Vince barked an order and his men threw Toothpick down and peppered him with bullets. He jerked and contorted with each shot, but didn't die. Instead he lurched toward a shooter named Gino and clutched his arm. The men closed in and bashed Toothpick's head with their gun butts. They punched and kicked him, but Toothpick was able to tear off a mouthful of arm and sleeve with his teeth. He masticated this mess with a surreal look of gusto on his gray features. A horrified Gino jammed his .38 on Toothpick's forehead and fired point-blank. The zombie dropped and lay still with a shocked expression on his ghastly face.

Hermione led the others up the ladder to the book stacks. She whispered, "Hide," and they scuttled urgently to the back of the shelves.

Guy Smalls was calling at the top of his lungs to be cut loose. Gianni staggered toward him, and when Guy saw his face he freaked.

"Stop him," he cried. "He's a zombie!"

"What in hell?" Vince demanded. At that instant a passing vampire, seeing a good chance to feed, swooped in and plucked a man outside. Several of the men opened fire.

"Stop," Vince bellowed. "You'll kill Benno." He jogged to the door and scanned the empty street. "He's gone, and Roger's disappeared too."

Guy's shrieks rang out hideously as Gianni fed on him, ripping chunks from his face and neck as he squirmed in his chair. Vince slammed the door shut and told a man to guard it. He cried out Gianni's name in disbelief, but Gianni was lost in his undead frenzy.

"Okay," he ordered miserably, "waste him."

Guns blasted and Gianni fell. Guy spasmed as bullets struck and killed him.

Gino tried to bandage Toothpick's bite. He took off his jacket to wrap his arm, but then his eyes clouded over murkily and the palliating charms of raw human flesh caused his lips to skin back from his teeth, and his nose breathed in the aroma of meat from the men around him.

Vince went to where Gianni lay. His friend opened his eyes and reached for him. Vince shot him in the head.

"Kill everybody here," he yelled. "Find 'em and dust every sumbitch."

"I saw someone up there," one of his men pointed.

They opened fire on the book stacks, and Hermione and the others hugged the floor as books disintegrated around their heads and shelving splintered. No one noticed Gino snatching a shooter. He dragged him behind the sales counter.

The roaring engine of Spike's motorcycle grew through the din and they stopped shooting and turned to the front. The bike crashed through the front door and floored the sentry there, its churning rear tire flensing off a swatch of his face before crashing into a wall. Its motor sputtered and died.

Vince gestured and two torpedoes ran outside. "Connie!" he called to another man. "Get up there and smoke those bastards."

Connie trotted to the ladder. At the top he saw Tara and Alex huddled together and raised his gun.

Hermione shot him in the head with her derringer.

Another volley flamed death at them, and a splinter tore into Hermione's hand like shrapnel. Alex had Guy's pistol but had no chance to aim. He pulled Tara protectively to him, and Tara hugged him in response.

Gino lifted his face from the man he just killed. He craved even more fresh meat. Crawling around the counter, he surprised the man crouching there and gorged on his plump neck. A couple of the others saw and fired at him. At that moment, someone found the back door and threw it open, and Surgat swooped into the store.

A trio of Kungai demons neared the Magic Box. "This is truly chaos," the leader commented. "There is much life force to feed on."

"Perhaps we will conquer Sunnydale," another suggested.

"Look," the third one pointed.

Two men came out of the Magic Box with guns held ready. Spike was waiting, and she kicked one in the head and knocked him senseless. She rushed the other, who got off a shot before Spike fanged him.

Then Surgat's blood-curdling shriek shattered the night.

The Kungais paused.

"Maybe we should try another part of town," one suggested.

"Perhaps another town," the leader countered.

They turned on their heels and ran.

Spike peeked into the doorway, gathered herself, then ran inside. Surgat flew in circles, terrorizing the survivors as they scampered for cover. He grabbed up a mobster, bit off his head and hurled the body at Vince, who ducked under the round table. He swallowed the head and cackled. "You see, kids? I get it one way or another."

The remaining guns flamed, and multi-colored fluids spattered as bullets tore into Surgat's dripping body. The rogue demon laughed at the pain, swooping and capering with his jaws locked in a maniacal grin.

In the back room Anya sifted sand onto the broken lines of the pentagram. Buddy knelt by Rayne, who lay in the corner hugging his blankets and crying.

Spike spied Buddy and crawled in her direction. Gino sprang onto her and sank his teeth into her back. Spike rolled over, slammed the Golem against the wall and shook his grip. She twisted around and pummeled him with both fists.

"A bleedin' zombie," she snorted, noting his indifference to the blows. She scooted back and kicked Gino's head with both booted feet, cracking his skull against a shelf. Gino's green and diseased brain plopped onto the floor, and Gino flopped down next to it and lay still.

Vince saw Spike and shouted, "That's her! Kill the blonde bitch."

The others didn't divert their eyes from Surgat, who tried to catch a man in his claws but missed. "Fiddlesticks!" he seethed.

Vince hastily shot at Spike but missed. The slide locked back on his automatic - out of ammo. He dumped the empty clip and slapped a new one in place, then took aim at Spike's head.

Buddy jumped on him ferociously. He jerked the gun away and whipped his head with it in time with his rebuke. "Leave – her – alone!" Vince's scalp split and he lost consciousness.

Anya was almost finished repairing the circle, angry at her hands for their trembling. She didn't notice Rayne get up and step quietly to the outside door. He opened it and slipped through, but bumped into Garnerbot, knocking the lock picks from his hands. He tried to run but Garnerbot trapped Rayne in his arms.

"Going somewhere, ace?"

"I have to leave," Rayne burbled.

"Good save, Jim," Anya called. "Hold that slippery little creepo."

Upstairs, Alex shot at one of Vince's men who came up the ladder. The round hit him in the neck and he fell strangling, and Alex immediately felt regret. Maybe the man was just trying to escape Surgat. He dropped the gun as an unclean thing, and pushed his face to the floor to stifle his sobs. Tara squeezed his shoulder and slowly picked up the gun.

Surgat broke a man in half and used the flopping corpse to swat the last few shooters. The tactic worked, and as he laid the last man low with smashed bones and brain trauma, an abrupt silence fell.

Surgat's mismatched hoof and foot thudded to the floor. He turned his poison eyes on Buddy. "Pretty man," he purred.

Spike jumped on his back. She pounded his head with hammer blows and Surgat, unaccustomed to being attacked, staggered and flailed at her, crunching dead bodies under his tremendous weight. He howled in frustration and rage.

Buddy kicked a display window in and fished out a war hatchet. He rushed Surgat, who saw him and stopped howling. He held out his paws expectantly with an anticipatory grin stretching his evil mouth.

Then he was yanked violently sideways. Surgat slammed onto the floor, impelled by the insistent forces that channeled through the pentagram. Spike leaped off as the demon slid to the back, his claws gouging deep grooves in the floor. At the door he held on with his massive arms, the door jamb cracking but holding. Surgat glowered malevolently at Spike and Buddy, working his gory fangs and cursing them.

Buddy threw the hatchet. It chucked into Surgat's arm at the elbow and severed it. The demon flew back, raging and spewing blood, back to the swirling mist that marked his portal.

Angel ran in the front door. Spike and Buddy looked at him from the middle of the carnage.

"I'm here," he said wanly.

Surgat screeched his displeasure, assaulting their eardrums. Anya smacked Rayne in his head. "Tell him to shut up."

Rayne reluctantly commanded, and Surgat reluctantly obeyed.

"Now I'm not fooling," Anya told Rayne. "Order him to reverse the spell, and I don't want to hear about correct pronounciations."

"Pro_nun_ciations," Rayne corrected.

Anya smacked him harder.

Garnerbot squeezed Rayne's neck until he squeaked. "Do what the lady says, or I'll break some of your favorite bones."

Anya smiled at Garnerbot, wondering why she hadn't noticed before how handsome he was. Her smile disappeared as she reminded herself that he was only a robot. Yes, a lifelike robot trained in the art of love.

Her smile returned.

In the store, Spike shook Vince awake.

He gritted his teeth. "You."

Spike gritted her teeth back at him. "_You_. Who the deuce are you, anyway?"

Vince smiled bitterly and said nothing. Spike pinched his nipple through his shirt and gave it a vicious twist. Vince squealed in agony.

"Tell me who you are, and who sent you and these Keystone hoods."

"I – I'm Vincent Scarpino," Vince quavered, rubbing his chest vigorously. "You hit my grandfather's drug lab, now he wants your head on a plate."  
>Spike said, "Your grandpa's Nino Scarpino?"<p>

"You know him?" Angel rolled his eyes. "That figures."

Vince hesitated.

"Purple nurple?"  
>"Okay! Yeah, he's Nino. You may as well know it, 'cause it's the last name you'll hear before you die."<p>

"So, Nino the Scar. Remember what I told you about him?"

Buddy nodded.

"Angel asked, "What did he tell you?"

Vince leveled his eyes on Spike. "Anyone calls him The Scar, better have their affairs in order."

Spike laughed. "I knew Nino when he was just a _young_ fatass." He gave Vince a friendly slap on the cheek. "Tell Nino the Elvis impersonator says hello. He'll know what it means."  
>"You're gonna let me go?"<br>"We're not murderers like you," Buddy said.

"Maybe this once," Angel suggested.

In the back room, Surgat was intractable. "I won't" he puffed. "What's in it for me if I do?"  
>"We won't make you eat your own guts," Anya retorted. "And we'll let you go."<br>Surgat shook his stump petulantly. "I want my arm back. And I want someone to take back with me, then you get your reversal."

"You can have your ugly old arm," Anya countered. "Jim, go get it."

Garnerbot looked back at her dubiously. Surgat waved at him in disgust. "I won't touch you, you have no soul."

Garnerbot was offended. He retrieved the arm and threw it to Surgat as he ran back to the circle. He said to Anya, "Really knows what buttons to push, this Surgat."

Anya snorted, "Next time we'll get a polite demon."

Surgat pressed the severed arm against his stump. Smoke steamed from the connection and fused the pieces together. He worked his claws with satisfaction.

"After the sun rises, the spell will reverse. But only when the truth is spoken to the cursed ones."

Anya said, "The truth about their really being men … and women?"  
>"If you cannot comprehend your own language," Surgat sneered, "tough titties."<p>

"What a jerkoweenie," Anya sniffed.

Garnerbot said mockingly, "Next time we'll get a polite demon."

Anya scowled. "Sarcasm's unattractive." She prodded Rayne. "Give him the dismissal."

Surgat held up a finger. "But I demand someone, or no reversal. I care not what torture you devise, I demand a live human, someone to ease my loneliness."

Rayne shuddered.  
>In the store, Vince stood up and touched the blood drying on his head. "I'm no messenger boy," he snapped. "I tell Nino nothing, not until I can describe how I cut your guts out and made you eat 'em."<p>

He smoothed his hair at the temples and straightened his clothes, regaining confidence. "Y'know, I have your Sunnydale cops in my pocket. Hell, the governor's in there with 'em, and I got plenty more of these –" he spat on a dead man. "They come dime a dozen. So we'll be back, and this time we know what to expect."

Angel moved threateningly, and Buddy restrained him.

Surgat's bellow reached them. "Give me someone or else they'll stay cursed until they rot in their graves!"

"That's right," Vince went on, "I'm gonna waste you all personally. I'm gonna cut your mothers' hearts out in front of you, then I'll take a rubber mallet –"

Hermione stormed down the ladder. "Egads, will you idiots throw him to Surgat already?"

Spike and Buddy looked at each other, shrugged, and grabbed the mobster's arms. Vince hollered protest, but they got his feet and swung him once, twice, then threw him kicking and screaming into the back room.

"Hello handsome," Surgat drawled.


	24. The Quiet Sun

Buddy slept with Spike's head in the crook of his shoulder. They had half-staggered into his house that morning, expecting to freshen up and eat something. Instead, they crashed in the living room, Buddy on the chair and Spike on the sofa. Birds chirping outside roused them, and with heavily lidded eyes and heads full of cotton balls they shuffled upstairs dropped on Buddy's bed, sinking immediately into deep slumber.

Buddy awoke before Spike and he watched her, smelled her sweet breath and brushed his lips across her forehead. He kissed her poor sunken eyelid, the bridge of her nose, her lips. Spike stirred and tried to awaken, but Buddy shushed her and caressed her to sleep.

The events of the night before already bore the fuzzy wings of the dimly remembered past, which puzzled him. And no matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn't recall what had ended their honeymoon in Vegas.

He took his edge of the pillow and let a pleasantly weary snooze envelope him. It was around nine at night when they blinked away the haze and got up. After a tandem shower they brushed their teeth together, eager to scrub the taste of death from their palates.

"You wanna geddoud?" Spike muffled through her toothpaste.

"Where ya wann go?" Buddy foamed in return.

They chose Kingman's Bluff because of the ocean view. Spike drove the bike with Buddy behind her, arms wrapped around her middle except when he teased her. They spread a blanket on the sand and watched the stars. Spike pointed out the constellations she knew, and Buddy uh-huhed although he wasn't much interested.

A thought struck Spike. "When's your mom and Dawn coming back?"  
>"Mmm, I should have called them already." Buddy smacked his forehead. "I think the phone rang about a dozen times, and I ignored it. I'm a crummy son."<p>

"You have a wonderful mum. She'll understand."

"Yeah."

They watched a shooting star streak across the sky.

"What did you wish?" Spike asked.

"Can't tell you."  
>"Superstitious."<p>

"Can you blame me?" Buddy rolled onto his stomach and fingered Spike's curls. "If you could have any wish, what would it be?"

Spike touched her eye pensively.

"Don't say your eye, that'll grow back on its own."

"Yeah, it'll take months. Okay then, I wish –"

"Nothing sexual, either."

Spike giggled. "You've shot down my first hundred choices then, haven't you?"

She lay back and thought for a while.

Buddy chinned his palm "Don't you wish you were human? I mean c'mon, you'd be able to walk in sunlight again, no more fear of being scorched. You gotta miss that."

"Yeah, that's true. But I really don't miss the sun so much as that. I never liked the hard sun, the blaring sun that drills into your head and cooks the life out of you. It dries everything out, cracks the dashboard of your car, hurts your eyes. I always liked cool weather. English weather suited me just dandy."

She sat up and crossed her legs. "I love the other sun, the soft one just before night and just before dawn. The quiet sun. It gives the sky pretty colors, and no matter how nasty the land is, even a ghetto looks like a picture postcard. Reds and oranges, the kind of hues you can see in a just few great paintings that captured it right. That's the sun for me, and I can watch it whenever I want, so what's to miss?"

Buddy silently toyed with a broken shell.

Spike lowered her head to see his expression in the starlight. She said, "Being human would be great for other reasons, though."  
>Buddy looked up expectantly.<p>

"We could have babies then. Live a regular lifestyle. You'd work and I'd cook and raise the little bits, we'd have Bridge night and go to P.T.A. meetings. Be old together and babysit the grandkids, tell 'em stories and rock them to sleep."

Buddy smiled. "That's a nice wish. Is that what you wished on the star?"

"If I tell you it won't come true. But all right, it was. Now I have to wish it again, don't I?"

Buddy shook his head. "No, you don't."

They lapsed into a happy silence, their eyes drawn upward for the next falling star.

…

Alex's mom shook his shoulder roughly.

"There's some girl here to see you. Onion, or something."  
>He opened his eyes groggily and sat up. "Who?"<p>

Mom shrugged curtly and left. She was having none of Alex's nonsense, having laid down the law. She wanted him out. What was a mother to do anyway, pick him up and physically eject him? That was a father's job.

Anya stood in the living room, casually looking around. Alex came out and said hello. He sat wearily on the sofa. Her face looked familiar, but he was blank on her name. Oh yeah, Mom had told him.

"Your name is … Onion?"

"No, it's Anya." She sat down next to him. Very slowly and deliberately she said, "You are not really Alex Fimple."

"I'm not?" Alex yawned.

"No. And you're not a man, you're Willow Rosenberg, a woman. A curse changed you into a man, but it's reversed now."

She exhaled in relief and stood up. "There. My work is done."

Alex grimaced, looking sick. He brought his fists to his mouth and turned terrified eyes on Anya, then pitched forward on the sofa and was wracked by spasms. The bones of his face moved wildly under his skin, and when he tried to speak all that eked out was an agonized moan.

"Ooh, bad reaction. Well, it should be over soon." Anya headed for the door. "I'll see you when you're Willow again."

Willow's mom came in and demanded to know what was happening.

"Your boy's finally turning into the woman you want him to be," Anya said breezily and walked out.

Alex lost consciousness, leaving his mom to witness his transformation alone. She watched Willow's hair grow long, watched her body shrink and her shirt and jeans billow baggily around her diminished frame.

She squeezed her hands together and stifled a sob, feeling helpless. This was the fault of her daughter's motley group of friends, she knew, and hated them. She knelt and stroked Willow's shoulder, wondering why her baby should suffer such misery. Maybe this metamorphosis would grow Willow some real breasts. She could peek and find out. Why not, who would know?

…

Hermione answered the bedside phone, holding a stern finger to her lips. Garnerbot smiled back at her mischievously. "Hello."

It was Anya. "I'm just calling to say you're not Hermione Down."

"I'm not?" Hermione let out a startled cry. She swatted Garnerbot's head and covered the phone. "Stop it!"

"I'm sorry," she said into the phone. "What were you saying?"

"You're Rupert Giles, a man. The spell that turned you into a woman is now reversed."  
>Hermione rolled her eyes and moaned. She slipped the phone back into its cradle and gave in to Garnerbot's superior technique.<p>

Outside the apartment Anya shut her cell phone testily. "So it's face-to-face only," she complained. She took off her shoe and pounded on the door with the heel.

What I do for these pathetic mortal numbskulls, she thought bitterly. And a thankless job it was, too.

After some minutes of persistent knocking, Hermione finally answered the door and Anya gave it to her straight. She left her swooning into her lover's arms and Garnerbot, wrapped in a Giles robe, lowered her gently to the floor.

She clapped her hands together in satisfaction. Two down, three to go.

She went to Buddy's and encountered Joyce and Dawn, who told her to try Spike's crypt. "They said they wanted to get away," Joyce told her. "Oh Anya, is this reversal really going to work?"

"It works. Soon everything will be back to normal. Well, what passes for normal around here, anyway."

Joyce thought about that. "Will some of … are they going to remember all this?"

Anya shrugged. "Who knows?"

At Spike's crypt she pounded the door with a crowbar, feeling absurd. She knew nobody would answer, and she would have to pry the door open, then find the hatchway in the floor, climb down the ladder and undoubtedly find Buddy and Spike au flagrante in bed. Would she draw any thanks from them at all? No way, they'd probably hate her. She jammed in the crowbar and pushed fiercely.

Below, Buddy held Spike close, and they finished a long and dreamy kiss.

"Do you love me?" Buddy asked.

"What do you think?"

"Say it."

"I love you," Spike whispered in his ear. "I always will love you, no matter what happens. Know that here, now, this moment – I pledge my life to you my darling. I give you everything, all I have, forever."

"Wow," Buddy whispered. "You say such beautiful things."

"Now it's your turn."

Buddy tried to find the words. "Ditto."

"Ditto, eh?"

"I'm sorry, I'm not a poet."

"Yes you are." Spike rolled over and put her arms around his neck. "You're sheer poetry to me."

There was noise at the ladder. They waited, and Anya came around the corner. She wiggled her fingers at them. "Hi. Sorry, I have a message for both of you."

They pulled the sheets up to their throats and sat up.

"Can't you see we're on our honeymoon?" Spike chided.

"It'll just take a minute, then I won't bother you."

Spike looked at Buddy, who shrugged. "Okay," she said. "Make it snappy."

…

Garnerbot walked somberly down the basement stairs with Warren.

"You're doing the right thing, Jimbo," Warren said cheerily.

"Whatever, I don't care." Garnerbot sat down and sighed. "It was nice being part of a romance, but it wasn't too cool finding out you set me up with a man. I should bust your chops for it."

Warren held his newly fixed remote control ready, but he hesitated. "How much do you know about what you really are?"

Jim smiled ruefully. "Just what you programmed me for, kid. I'm James Garner, and also every part he ever played. I'm a young actor, and an old man. I'm a cowboy and a private eye, a soldier and a conman, but really just a robot you made. Now what're you gonna do, wipe out my memory?"

"Naw, I wouldn't do that," Warren lied. He thumbed a cycle of buttons and wiped out Garnerbot's memory. He got a tool and removed the James Garner face, revealing a complicated salad of circuitry and fluidics.

Andrew trundled down the stairs with a Tootsie Pop in his mouth.

"Dude, you've killed Jimbo."

"Don't you ever knock?"

"What're you going to do with him now?"

Warren rubbed his chin. "I dunno. You have anyone else wants to hire a robot?"

Andrew crunched into the pop. "Damn. I never make it without biting."


	25. The Big Reveal

Buffy was back on patrol. It took a couple of nights to eradicate the horde of itinerant vampires who had taken Sunnydale to be an easy conquest. She threw herself wholeheartedly into her work, reassured by familiar routine. She set aside everything else: preparation for college, Mom's ill health, Dawn's intransigence. These she relegated to a worrisome future, but for now it was enough to prowl for vamps and obliterate them coldly and without remorse.

She carefully avoided the area around Spike's crypt.

Her third night back was exceedingly slow, so she walked to Giles' apartment.

"Come in, come in," he greeted. Willow and Anya were there, doing something on the computer.

"Hiya," Willow waved.

"Hey." Buffy waved back.

"Good to see you again, Buffy." Anya got up and enthusiastically patted Buffy on her shoulders. "I've missed you. We're rebuilding the Magic Box, you know. The workers are really slow. They're really ugly too. Even the muscular ones have bellies and wear their pants so low you can see their butt cracks."

Buffy dropped contentedly into a chair. This was familiar.

Giles went to the kitchen and spoke through the dining slot. "I have tea if you like, or coffee. Would you like something to eat?"

Buffy always refused Giles' hospitable offers of comestibles, although her usual m.o. was to filch whatever he brought out for others. "Thanks," she said this time, "I'd love some tea. And maybe a cookie to go with?"

Giles got to work assembling her order. Buffy craned her head over the computer monitor. "You're looking up strip clubs?"

"Mmm-hmm," Willow hummed.

Anya said, "Searching for Xander. We can't find mention of Kendra Hughes, but he's probably wiggling to a different handle now."

Willow clicked onto a site. "We're looking at pictures. I never realized there were so many strippers with facelifts and Botox. Like every one of them have boob jobs, too. Ugh. Some should quit stripping and collect social security."

Giles brought Buffy tea and five shortbread cookies, which were good dunked in the tea, which she proceeded to do. Giles' mouth turned down at the sight.

"It makes the tea sweeter," Buffy said defensively.

"So do lumps," Giles replied, offering the sugar dish.

Buffy cocked her head. "Leave it to the country that boils all their food to attach the word 'lump' to sugar and make it sound gross."

Willow giggled and Anya copied her, although she found no humor but only truth in the observation. She made a mental note that negative truth was humorous, and could even get a laugh from the lately deadpan Willow.

"Giles burped yesterday, and it smelled really bad. Like onions." She giggled and waited for the others to laugh, but instead they all gave her sour looks. She imitated the belch, a soft one which she had only noticed because of her acute observation skills. She imitated Giles' dyspeptic rapping of his chest and huffing.

"And it really smelled," she finished, irritated that they maintained a silent embarrassment. She had an inkling they were embarrassed for her. So she made a further mental note that people were really really mean and stupid and she hated them.

Buffy soaked half a cookie in tea and tongued it against the roof of her mouth. Willow tap-tapped on the keyboard, Anya watched, and Giles assiduously stirred his tea. Buffy withstood the awkward silence for about two minutes.

"All right," she blurted. "Let's have it out."

Willow stopped typing, Anya looked up, and Giles withdrew his spoon.

"Everything's so weird I can't take it."

Giles said, "Of course. We are all studiously avoiding mention of the spell. Thank you Buffy, I think we should discuss it and clear the air."

Anya brightened. "Yeah, because I –"

"Not you Anya," Giles said hurriedly. "You're a major reason we're avoiding the subject. Please refrain from recounting the more painful aspects of the past weeks. In fact your silence would be a welcome virtue."

"Okay, fine. Great." Anya made a keying motion in front of her lips. "I'll be silent as a dead bunny."

"Whew." Willow wiped pretend perspiration from her brow. "I've been so weirded out lately. I mean, I woke up with my mom poking my boobies to see if they grew. Hey, don't bother looking guys, they're the same size as always."

Giles dropped his eyes guiltily.

"That's kind of spooky," Buffy agreed. "My mom's been pretty together about it. Like she took it all in stride, like."

"Aw, she's so cool," Willow said.

Anya overcame her locked lips. "Better than Giles. Sleeping with another guy? Whoosh."

Giles dropped his spoon angrily. "It was just a robot though, wasn't it?"

"Sure, but you didn't know the difference."

Willow said gently, "Anya. Weren't you going to keep quiet?"

"Yes," Giles blustered. "What about that?"

"You're right," Anya made a zipping motion across her lips. "I'm mute. Go ahead."

Giles sat silent.

"See, you've ruined it, Anya." Buffy dunked another cookie.

"No, I'm all right," Giles assured them. "Perhaps we can discuss what happened in … let's say general terms, eh?"

"I'm uncomfortable talking to Tara," Willow said glumly. "After all the betrayal, the sneaking around. We're all weird together now."

Buffy nodded and masticated soggy shortbread.

Giles took off his glasses. "It was because of the spell. Even though Tara wasn't technically under it, her actions were certainly impacted."

Willow turned her eyes to him hopefully.

"That being the case, I think it's important not to let the recent upheaval ruin a close relationship. Simply discuss your feelings honestly, and I'm certain you'll reach common ground again."

"I agree with Dr. Phil, here," Buffy snuffled, spraying cookie vestige onto the table. She grabbed her napkin and daubed up the mess. "Oops."

Giles handed her a few more napkins. "Thank you."

Willow bobbed her head positively. "Okay. Tara and I can have a session tonight. Of talking," she added hastily.

Buffy stirred her last cookie into her tea to make a sweet broth. She drank it while enduring another silence.

Willow gave her a winsome smile. "Your turn, Buffster. Anything you want to say?"

Buffy shrugged. "About being a man? It was weird, yeah, yodda yodda."

"No, about Spike."

"Yes," Giles concurred. "What do you intend to do about him?"

"Nothing."

Willow and Giles nodded quietly.

Anya broke silence again. "That's no answer. No, I'm sorry," she insisted, waving off their protests. "I can talk about this. I stayed for your reversal, Buffy. I bailed for the others, but I stayed and witnessed everything with you and Spike, and heard everything that was said afterwards."

"So what?"

"So are you really immortal?"

Giles stood up. "What do you mean, immortal?"

Buffy shrugged. "Just something Spike said."

Anya saw their interest and gloated over new status. "Spike said you guys exchanged blood and vows."

Giles paled. "Oh dear. You didn't …?"

"What, are you afraid I'm a vampire now?" Buffy screwed up her face and snarled. "Grrr. As if."

"Of course not." Giles reflected as he put on his glasses. "But did you in fact exchange blood with Spike?"

"He says so. But it's Spike, he's lying."

"You don't know for sure?"

"Some alcoholic beverage may have been consumed by me. Look, he said we … licked a little blood. Like, ew, don't wanna think about that."

Anya piped up. "And claimed each other, don't forget that."

Buffy turned on her. "Do you want to tell it?"

"Ooh, yes," Anya crowed, oblivious to sarcasm. "Spike said that they claimed each other in marriage, so now Buffy will live as long as he does and never age. But if he dies Buffy will die too, and vice versa. Can you believe it?"

Giles pressed his temple, feeling a headache coming on. "What do you remember of … of this claiming … ceremony, for want of a better word?"

Buffy sighed, "Not much. I think he's lying."

"Well, you must have your doubts since you wouldn't stake him."

Buffy was becoming very annoyed by Anya, and her fingers curled into talons.

"She told Spike to leave Sunnydale," Anya said. "Or she's gonna stake him. She was mad because he was saying they would have eternity to draw together again and Spike opened his shirt and said go ahead, stake him and she'd die too, then they'd be together anyway."

Giles wordlessly picked up the dishes and took them to the sink. Buffy mouthed rebuke at Anya, who couldn't fathom her meaning, so she scowled back and silently gobbled gibberish. Buffy's hands closed to fists and she was sorely tempted.

Giles came back. "There, is eh, not too much in the books about this, as far as my experience. In documented cases of marriage between human and vampire, the human wound up being turned. I suppose anyone so far gone as to marry a vampire wouldn't balk at becoming one.

"Oh," he added apologetically, "I'm sorry, Buffy. I wasn't referring to you."

Buffy spread her hands ruefully. "I know. I was under a spell."

"Would exchanging blood really bind them?" Willow asked.

Buffy let out a strangled grunt. She stalked to the door and opened it. "Spike isn't binding me to anything!"

Giles winced as the door slammed. "I hope she doesn't do anything rash."

Anya nodded. "Like stake Spike. That might kill her."

"I believe she's off to see him, anyway. That's understandable. Vampire marriages are rare but there is some lore, and there's supposed to be psychological pain when they're apart. They will be inexorably drawn together."

"Great," Willow said. "Rayne really screwed everything up. We should've handed him to Surgat."

Giles smiled indulgently. "It would have made been amusing, yes. But Rayne is completely broken. He's back in England now, in his own sort of hell."

Willow exclaimed triumphantly, "Found him!"

"Rayne?"

"No. Xander." She turned the monitor around and showed him a strip club website. A picture showed Kendra posing on a stripper's pole, topless.

Giles looked away. "I could happily have not seen that."

Anya cackled. "That's great. I'll go shake him out of it. This is too precious."

"Where is the club?" Giles asked.

Willow swung the monitor back again. "Arizona. It's called the Bambi Forest, at an Indian casino. Why do they call it that, it should be 'Native American casino.' When are people going to get in their heads –"

"Look," Anya interrupted, fingering the base of the pic. "Xander's taken another name. Helena. Helena Bone-Him Carter, can you believe it? That's the idiot we know so well."

"Someone probably gave her that name," Willow protested.

"Like the Marquis de Sade," Giles quipped. "Let's reserve a flight for Anya, as soon as possible."

"No, I'll rent a car tomorrow and drive there," Anya countered. "I have to do some shopping."

"Clothes for Xander?" Giles asked.

Anya clucked humorously. "Among other things."

…

Spike's crypt was unlocked, and Buffy shoved through the door. It shrieked rustily on its axis instead of slamming open, an unsatisfying result. She launched a hook kick at it as she passed the threshold.

Spike sat on a sarcophagus with his guitar. His eye had been repaired during the spell reversal, along with the myriad wounds he had sustained in that brief time. He wore his familiar jacket now, with black jeans and tee shirt. "Cor," he exclaimed. "So flaming aggro. What's the problem now, Slayer? "

Buffy withdrew Mr. Pointy from her inside pocket and brandished it. "You're the problem, Spike. And you're either going to stop being a problem, or you're going to marry Mr. Pointy."

He shrugged and gave his guitar a resonant strum. "I'll stop being a problem, then. And I can't marry Mr. Pointy." He held up his left hand and wiggled the wedding ring Buffy had worn as Buddy.

"Already hitched, remember?"

Buffy leaped onto the sarcophagus and stood over him. "You are going to be a problem, then."

Spike put down the guitar and hopped to the floor. "I was under the same spell as you, Buffy."

She performed a side flip that dropped her in front of him, with her pet stake thrust up to within an inch of Spike's throat.

"You weren't drunk when we got married though, were you?"

Spike rolled his head and grinned disbelievingly. "Yes, I was drunk. As drunk as a vampire can be. Do I remember going to the altar with you? Yeah sure. But you were sober enough to say 'I do'. And by the way, you've got Mr. Pointy pointing at the wrong place."

Buffy shifted the stake to Spike's crotch. He jumped back in alarm. "Don't even think it."

"I'm not talking about that sham at the Little White Church, I'm talking about this claim you think we made."

"You weren't drunk when we did that, Luv. Unless you were drunk on desire."

Buffy ground her teeth. She flung Mr. Pointy and the stake burrowed into Spike's thigh.

"Ow! You little bitch." He gripped the stake and pulled it out with a pained snort. "You missed it," he sniggered.

"Hard to hit such a small target." She moved on him threateningly. "I don't know what kind of hold you think you have on me, Spike. If I am in some kind of vampire marriage, either divorce me or I'll just have to make myself a widow." Her hand flashed and she snatched Mr. Pointy from his hand. Spike moved away cautiously, putting the corner of the sarcophagus between them.

"Fine, you don't need that, you just have to unclaim me, and I unclaim you."

"That's all?"

"Vampires aren't big on obligations. We're not like you silly mortal wankers. There's no vampire divorce court." He stopped and shifted his eyes reflectively. "That would be a show worth watching though, wouldn't it?"

"Then I unclaim you."

"And I unclaim you."

"Good. Now get out of town."

Spike met her level gaze and saw she meant business.

"Okay. But there's one more thing to the ritual."

"What?" she snapped fiercely.

He gestured helplessly. "I didn't invent it. The idea is, if you divorce a mortal you're supposed to make sure you're not unleashing vengeance on all vampires."

"What the hell do you mean?"

"Divorces are more risky than just killing your mate."

Buffy held up Mr. Pointy.

"We have to kiss, that's all."

"What?" she blurted. Accusingly she said, "You're lying."

He shrugged. "I didn't make the rules, did I?"

Buffy inhaled deeply and let her arm drop. "Who does, anyway? Is some vampire supreme court sitting around coming up with crap rules on how vampires live?"

"Sure feels that way. It's all just trial and error, I suppose."

Buffy moved toward Spike.

"Uh-uh. Lose your wood first."

Buffy set the stake down. "You too."

Spike shook his head amusedly. "You flatter yourself, you silly bint."

He put out his arms.

Buffy stepped back. "You didn't say anything about touching."

"How will we kiss without touching?"

"If I have to put my lips to yours, that's all I'm gonna do. Keep your hands to yourself."

"My pleasure." Spike locked his hands behind his back.

"Isn't that the truth." Buffy leaned forward and puckered. Spike's lips met hers and Buffy felt something akin to an electric jolt – a small one, but enveloping. An irresistible aroma fed her senses, Spike's scent. It was salty sea and sunshine, night breezes and pineapple. Her skin tingled; she had the sensation of being swept in the air by smooth and diaphanous silk wings. Somehow her arms were around Spike and she felt his arms close in around her. She had broken her own rule first.

She didn't care. A corner of her mind cried protest, but the diaphanous wings swept it out the door and across the universe. Their tongues mingled, and Buffy's body responded with its own will. Stars winkled in the sky and purple clouds gathered only to be blown away by sweet, cascading winds that refreshed and zested her as she climbed mountains and tumbled joyfully down each new peak. Time was a footnote. She heard her own distant laughter, surprised by the unique pitches and notes and it was Spike conducting her and the music was in the two of them, a symphony that led to shattering crescendo. She was caught up in turbulent waves that drove her senses to unbelievable heights, then falling, falling deeply into a delightful, sleepy blackness that at last enfolded her with gracious, nurturing warmth that she surrendered to, as she had surrendered to Spike.

She woke up blinking and drowsily rubbing her face. She was in bed. Not her bed.

She whipped around. Spike lay there asleep.

"Oh, shit!"

…

Anya felt a little out of place in the audience at Bambi Forest, and she drew attention from some of the slavering perverts. She figured they might take her for a lesbian, but that was just as well. She didn't want them hitting on her.

A short, chubby man in an expensive suit hit on her.

"You'd really like my wife," he winked. "We have a water bed."

"I don't like people," Anya retorted. "I make it with animals."

"I have a horse at the stables," he persisted.

She moved to the other side of the stage. The medallion that hung at her cleavage itched terribly. The cord that ran from the hidden lens in the medallion to the camera pick-up in her hip pocket chafed her. Her discomfort was necessary, so she just scratched furtively and listened to an unseen announcer introduce Helena Bone-Him Carter. Kendra took the stage wearing a purple teddy Anya immediately coveted. She remembered her mission and lightly bumped her chest with a fist.

Kendra performed for the pervs, amassing many bills in her thong and garters. Anya pressed the shutter button on the medallion again and again, and anyone watching would think she had heartburn. She held up a twenty, hiding her face as Kendra shimmied over languorously and presented a thigh. Anya stuffed the twenty in her thong. As Kendra undulated away Anya called out, "Let's see the goodies."

Kendra removed her teddy to the appreciation of the gawkers. She performed a series of stretches and pole acrobatics that impressed Anya immensely. She wondered if Xander would be able to do any of these moves after he reversed.

Kendra teased up to the big reveal. She tempted and suggested and swayed with fluid grace until the thong was tossed aside.

After taking several primo shots with the hideaway, Anya cupped her hands to her mouth. "Hey Kendra," she called gaily. "You're not a girl, you're really a man. Your name is Xander Harris, and the spell is over."

She felt a stab of anxiety, knowing Xander would soon be writhing in pain and passing out up there. She may not be able to get any more good photos if a crowd encircled him.

There was a loud pop, and a blast of air blew in a wave from the stage, causing every eye to blink and activating every tear duct. The audience recoiled. They wiped their eyes and focused again to see Xander blithely wiggling his booty up there. Anya didn't pause to wonder why the reversal had worked so differently, but assiduously banged away at her chest.

Epithets and beverage containers were flung. Xander recoiled and gaped down at himself. His eyes went sunny-side-up. A beefy biker lumbered onto the stage, inspiring others to follow. He stomped toward Xander with mayhem etched in his burly face.

Xander turned and disappeared through the tinsel curtains with a posse on his tail. An alarm signaled his escape through a fire door. Anya beat a hasty retreat, laughing heartily. She pulled the rental car out and saw Xander, sprinting although no one pursued, making great time down the boulevard. She zoomed after him, slowing as she got close.

"How 'bout a ride, sexy fella?"

Xander's relief when he saw her was so gladsome that Anya felt a little guilty for setting him up. He ran to the passenger side and opened the door. Anya gunned the engine and the car jerked forward. She applied the brakes and listened to Xander swear.

"Drive," he begged as he clambered in. "Omigod, Anya, I've never been so happy to see anyone in my whole life."

Anya reached into the back seat.

"Here, wear this." She flipped some clothes at Xander. He stared at the garments dubiously, apparently put off by all the frillies and feathers.

"Sorry Xander, it's all I have. And you can't stay naked."

Xander sighed and gave in. He took the little pink number Anya had bought for him yesterday and pulled it over his head. He grimaced as he squeezed it down his torso, regretting that he hadn't put on the bottoms first.

"Watch the road," he wheezed, wondering why Anya was turned to face him. "What, do you have indigestion or something?"

"No, I just never want to forget these precious moments."

Xander shook his head and picked up the paisley loincloth with rainbow suspenders.

The End


	26. Epilogue

"Oh, shit!"

Spike stirred groggily. "Oh. Morning to you too."

Buffy lunged away from him, repeating the move until her feet reached the floor. "Where are my clothes?" she demanded.

"I think I swallowed your panties," Spike advised unhelpfully.

Buffy swore at him, and Spike rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow, mumbling unintelligibly.

Buffy found her jeans. "What're you saying?"

He lifted his face. "I said it's always the same with you – hot and cold … no, rather steaming hot then frigid. Icy … subarctic."

"We're through, Spike. You hear me?" she snapped her jeans and looked for her bra. Giving up, she slipped into her top without it.

"Going commando, eh?"

"How do you know?"

He rolled over and pulled Buffy's bra taut between his hands, biting one of the cups. "I'm psychic," he taunted.

Buffy reached for it in a frenzy. Spike grabbed her wrist and pulled her down on top of him.

But Buffy also pulled away and went to ascend the ladder to the crypt above. "I never want to see you again, Spike. I want you out of Sunnydale - permanently."

Spike and Buffy both looked up with alarm at Buffy. "What the hell?" they shrilled in unison.

Buffy sank down the ladder's rungs until she sat on the chamber's floor, her breast heaving.

From atop Spike Buffy's twin gaped at her. "Sp-Spike,' she quavered. "Wh-what's happening? What'd you do to me?"

Spike scrambled to a sitting position, dropping twin Buffy to the bed. "Bloody hell," he gasped. "I didn't do anything. There's two of you – but which is the real Buffy, eh? One of you have to be a Buffybot. Warren built one of you birds!"

Each Buffy felt of her own flesh, and they both agreed they were human, and the same stricken expression overtook their identical faces.

"Both of us are Buffy," they told Spike.


End file.
